Your Silence is Deafening
by Vacancy
Summary: When she left the Host Club, she had broken herself into pieces. After a long year, Mori tries to pick up the fragments and recreate what once was. MoriHaru with plenty of angst along the way, rated for minor sexual themes and language.
1. The Library

**A/N: Hey there. I've never done an Ouran fic before, but I've decided the time is now and place is this . . . er, story, to get it done. I'd be ingratiated to any and all nice wonderful people who would place a review—don't hold back, I'm a big beleiver in constructive critixism.**

**Discalimer:** I do not own anything but my love of Ouran.

Preface (of sorts): The Library

The library at Ouran Academy was colossal. There were Little Reading Rooms the size of the most privileged of national libraries, there were bookshelves scaling the walls of Study Halls and classrooms—but the library was truly the last word in books. Tall, stately bookshelves that each were affixed with a gliding ladder to reach the books higher than even Takashi could reach formed curving, labyrinth patterns, leaving winding corridors of endless plush carpet and leather-bound books. If you walked far and long enough, you might find, bubbled in on all sides by shelves, clusters of plush chairs and tables and desks, giving you the feeling of a forest clearing. The heavy presence of ancient books seemed to absorb any amount of clamor made by anything—it was silent, comfortable, and just a touch eerie, another reason why so many ghost stories took place in the school.

It scaled a quarter of a mile worth of space—on all of it's three floors. Sometimes, if you were just below the small coffee bar, you could hear the hush-hush, hush-hush of feet on soft carpeting and of whipped cream being sprayed into hot chocolates.

It was here that Fujioka Haruhi searched for solace from clamor, noise, and people—and the Host Club, which encompassed all three in spades. She wandered through the aisles, running appreciative fingers over book spines, inhaling the pleasant smell of old paper, ink, paste and dust that was the very smell of _old _that no amount of dutiful librarians could keep at bay, quite lost in the pensive, tomblike embrace of the library. A fictitious book taking place in the European Renaissance was held loosely with one hand despite its' size—holding up heavy tea trays and being pulled around all the time by people that could be defined in no other way than with the word _schoolboys_ had not made her capable of running faster, but had certainly strengthened her arm muscles. Generally, she wasn't a large fan of reading for leisure—quite, she never found time—but it was a soundly relaxing thing to do, and she felt that after a day of almost being molested by an overenthusiastic client, arguing with Tamaki over her plans for the summer break, and getting two hours of sleep in spite of that, she was going to spend her study period curled up in a chair, reading a book recommended by a middle-school friend, and scan through letters and words and sentences until her eyes ached.

She stumbled into one of the comfortable reading areas, relieved to see it empty—the last thing she needed was a class D crammer shoving her into a bookcase or a fan girl trying to seduce her. She stumbled, feet aching (only Ouran Academy could provide a library in which she could fall into a chair with exhaustion on her way back from the fiction section) from her hike (and the same for making her think of a library trip as a hike).

She made herself comfortable on one of the overstuffed armchairs, leaning her head against the plush side-panels and letting her legs half-dangle from where they were hooked over the arm. Feeling a deep sense of contentment, she began to read . . .

**-x-**

"Do you realize what we are seeing, Lo?"

"Something we are going to walk away from, I hope."

"Not a chance. Look at him! He's so cute I could scream!"

"You shouldn't, Renge-san, I read somewhere screaming is both proved effective in waking people and frowned upon in libraries."

"Shut up!" Renge said, but she giggled, whipping a slim, modern phone out of her pocket and sliding the top section back to access the keyboard. She quickly switched into picture mode, snapping a picture carefully set to 'no flash' of the sleeping Host Club member.

"Renge-san, come on!" Lo said quietly, but gazing at the sleeping Haruhi with as much adoration as Renge.

"Let's just get a few more pictures," she said, moving as silent as a wraith from her spot behind a bookshelf where the two had been observing Haruhi sleep for a good ten minutes, searching for the perfect shot, watching different angles on the phone screen with a critical eye. "We could print them out and sell them for pocket money."

"But Kyoya already does that," Lo said, moving forward hesitantly, cautiously.

"Yes, but those pictures have no _personality. _They're amazing, but they're so staged. Look, see, this is a good one. He's drooling a little but. How cute. How real. And who better to play the adorably flawed than Haruhi?"

"Renge— "

"Ladies." The new voice was cool, polite, reasonable, and extremely familiar as Kyoya Ootori stepped out from behind the bookshelves. His eyes zeroed in on the camera, the sleeping Haruhi, and quickly assessed the situation, donning an easy, clients-only smile. "What, is our little prince sleeping?"

"Yes. Lo and I walked over and saw him here and—isn't he so cute?" Renge lied easily, whipping the phone up her skirt and slipping it into the secret pocket secured with a garter of sorts. Cell phones were far from prohibited in class due to all the students who more or less juggled a business on their own, but Renge did things like this all the time. She felt that it lent her the air of 'an old time assassin.'

"Isn't it a bit of an invasion of privacy to take pictures of someone fast asleep?" He gave another smile, and his aura went from reasonable to vaguely menacing in the blink of an eye, proof of his deserving the nickname 'Demon Lord'. Lo started backing away subtly, shooting a look at Renge. Her hip caught a table and she stumbled, falling over the arm of a chair and into Haruhi's lap. The boy-pretender started awake, looking first sleepy then more than a little surprised to find a girl in her lap, but not shocked, unfortunately, hanging out with the Host Club banished any wish she had that this sort of thing would be out of the ordinary.

"Um, Hello, Miss—." she began courteously, and Renge looked put out.

"Not fair!" she bawled, stabbing an accusing finger at her friend, who was scrambling to her feet, blushing profusely—she was clearly not a Host Club regular."You planned that! You planned that!"

"Renge?" Haruhi asked bewilderedly, running her fingers through her mussed hair.

"Please, Ladies," Kyoya said smoothly. "It _is_ a library, and poor Haruhi has to study or she'll lose her scholarship."

"You're right!" Lo said, seeming to grab at any chance to leave. "Come on, Renge, let's go."

"But, but," Renge protested, shooting a scowl at her friend and giving a small fight before allowing herself to be dragged off.

"I'll know if you publish those photos," Kyoya informed Renge in a friendly tone as she was being towed away by her friend. "But feel free to send them to me to be published in our photo books. I'll be sure to cite you as photographer."

"Kyoya," Haruhi said, ever the sleepy but cheerful morning person. "What just happened?"

"Renge happened," he said, suddenly similarly weary. Indelicate footfalls were coming from behind him, a few shelves down, and Haruhi wondered if it was Renge trying her hand at sneaking.

"Kyoya, is that—." she began, still sleepy, to voice her concern, but he cut her off, something Kyoya never did, ever.

"Prepare yourself for twins in 3. 2--."

"Haruhiiiii!" Hikaru and Kaoru bounded out from behind a shelf, looking enormously pleased with themselves. "Are you surprised?"

"Not really," she said blearily, yawning delicately and knuckling her eyes that felt thick and painful with contacts that certainly weren't supposed to be worn overnight. When she opened her eyes, Tamakui had somehow entered as well, and Hunny and Mori were ghosting down the aisle, the former waving enthusiastically.

"We've never seen Haruhi tired before," Tamaki said, indigo eyes wide, marveling at new, sleepy Haruhi.

"How did you all manage to find me?" she asked, irritated, but her words weren't heeded.

"You're so cute!" Tamaki enthused, bearing down on the not-so-surprised Haruhi, who blushed slightly as one of the famous(_in_famous, she thought they should be re-dubbed) Host Club group hugs that she was so often treated to enveloped her.

"Please let me go," she muttered, but once again her words were ignored.

"Haruhi, we found you for a reason," Kyoya said briskly.

"Of course you did," she muttered, trying to wriggle out of the collective embrace and ending up nose-to-nose with Hunny, who, ever unfazable, smiled beatifically and blinked with his yard-long eyelashes in his typical 'lovely item' fashion.

"It's almost summer break," the beglassesed boy continued, flipping open the ever-present covered clipboard, as Tamaki grabbed her by the collar and jerked her upright, muttering about his daughters' virgin lips while Haruhi rolled her eyes.

"Not again. Look, I'm not going to go on vacation with you guys this time. Tamaki, let me go!Like Hunny would—." she began to scold, but Kyoya cut her off for a second time.

"l—and since working at Misuzu's Pensione isn't an option due to her illness—."

"What? What illness?"

"—the Host Club as a whole would like to extend an invitation to the Caribbean islands over the summer break."

"No, for a second time, no," Haruhi said with finality, managing to escape the hug-happy crowd and lifting up the cushion on the chair and kneeling on the floor to see where her book had slipped off to.

"But-but-but! Haruhi!" Tamaki protested, looking earnest. "We planned it all out! We'll go with you to get a passport tonight and tomorrow we'll take you shopping for suitable clothes—."

"If you get scared in the changing rooms don't hesitate to call us," the Hitachiins said in unison, smiling slyly at Haruhi's deadpan.

"Perverts! It's indecent for brothers to think of sisters that way! We'll leave on Friday—."

"_No_, Tamaki," Haruhi repeated firmly, rummaging in her suit pocket for a mint, which she popped into her mouth to banish the taste of sleep. "Dad will take some taking care of this break, he's got the flu. I was going to visit my middle school friends and I have to shop—on top of all of that, my grandparents are expecting me."

This hardly seemed to faze Tamaki, who bravely soldiered on.

"We'll send one of our maids to your house for the break, then—we sold an old shirt of yours, that more than pays the bill for that and the food she'll purchase."

"But I'm his daughter, Tamaki," she parried. "I'm honor-bound to take care of him until he feels better."

"Influenza wouldn't take long to fight off," Kyoya said reasonably. "Stay with him until he feels better, visit your friends while your at it, and pay your grandparents a visit when we return."

Haruhi glowered at Kyoya for predictably siding with Tamaki, but the blond grinned, happy to have the voice of reason by his side.

"Yes! Exactly! We'll do that! And meanwhile the finest doctors will be—."

"No!" Haruhi protested. "No, you all go on your trip and have fun without me." Spotting the incredulous looks on the faces of the entire club excluding Mori and Kyoya, she scoffed. "What? You managed it fine before I showed up. Whats the problem?"

Silence.

She felt a little tug-tug on the tails of her jacket, and looked down to fine a little, earnest face looking back at her.

"Haruhi," he said, and Hunny looked like he might cry if she said she wasn't going to come, a state in which she had never found little Mitsukuni, even when he verified that yes, his brother probably hated him. "It just won't be the same without you, Haru-chan."

"He's using the Hunny eyes," Hikaru and Kaoru whispered reverently to each other, and Haruhi felt herself crumbling for those liquid, watery eyes and she could hear the growing scream of joy in Tamaki's throat.

" . . . I'll think about it," she said finally, and with loud squeaks of happiness she was drawn into another embrace.


	2. Plane Rides and Bleeding Noses

A/N:** Second chapter, second day.**

**I'm sorry, can I hear a big WHOO?**

**You know, I haven't figured out who this is. It's currently a HaruhixSomeone?**

**I'm thinking about having her crush people's hopes and dreams by telling them that she doesn't love any of them, then repenting and being rejected before being accepted 'cause she's so darn cute.**

**Or I could just do a pariing. **

**Help me out here!**

Disclaimer: You caught me. I'm totally Bisco Hatori. Forgot to tell you.

Chapter Two:

_Plane Rides and Bloody Noses_

"This is a little surreal," Haruhi said, turning the passport over in her hands. "I can go anywhere in the world now if I get the funds."

"I'll be your funds this time, Haruhi," Kaoru said easily, and Tamaki glanced over at the two of them, sitting next to Hikaru on a limousine seat, with Haruhi sandwiched in between, the place she always would rather not be and the place she always was, ready to call him a nasty incestuous pervert if there was so much as a flicker of something sly in his face.

The car was gliding gracefully over road so new that the pavement was a decided black, not yet laced with the tar and spiderweb cracks that the old, whitish roads a few streets over had the quality of. They were on their way to Fujioka residence, in the less swanky (but by no means slummy) neighborhood.

"We'll need to go shopping for good male beach clothes," Kyoya said distractedly, checking his watch.

"I still haven't said yes," Haruhi reminded them, considering a small lie that Ranka's curfew, an extremely long four hours from now, had been pulled back, because certainly the Host Club would want to monopolize her time until she absolutely positively _had_ to leave.

"Better safe than sorry," Kyoya quoted, adjusting his glasses. "Have you heard the particulars of the trip, Haruhi?"

"Let me guess, we're going to host," she said in a disinterested tone.

"Differently from the usual, Haruhi. We're doing permanent weekend hosting."

"What?"

"We did a raffle last week over this, remember?" he asked, and Haruhi blushed a dull pink—she had been hung up on what she was going to cook for Ranka's birthday. "In which the clients could buy a ticket for a few hundred yen, place it in the box of their preferred host member. When the person took a ticket from their box, the girl who it's twin belonged to was treated to an all-expenses paid two-week vacation with the Host Club vacation in Barbados."

"Renge bought about sixty tickets," Hikaru and Kaoru snickered in their disturbing but endearing unison.

"Here," Kyoya said, leaning forward and preferring a small crumpled piece of paper with lacy, over elegant script. "You were studying the day we drew them so Tamaki did the honors of choosing your companion."

"Momoka," Haruhi said, relief flooding through her. "Aah, thats a relief. Who got Renge, then?"

"You did," Tamaki said, looking at Kyoya sulkily. "I already pulled out Momoka so I had to draw twice for you." He snatched Momoka's name card away from her and glared moodily at Kyoya. Tamaki had been irritable and prone to sulking since they left for the airport and the club feared the answer to much to ask why.

Kyoyu smiled his perfect, demonic smile in a ha-ha funny joke sort of way and handed her a new card, this one scrawled hastily with the word RENGE.

"Lovely," Haruhi muttered, and pocketed the slip.

**-x-**

"And you're sure you don't need me there?"

"Haruhi, your voice is awfully high-pitched," Kaoru observed, leaning on her shoulder. She started to stumble until Hikaru leaned on the other, balancing the weight. Haruhi signaled for them to shut up and listened to the fluttery voice on the other end of the phone line.

"Oh, no, honey, you go and enjoy your vacation and be sure to e-mail papa! Ho ho ho ho!"

Ranka had surprisingly recovered amazingly quickly from his influenza after he heard that Haruhi was off to spend the next couple weeks with her friends. With another good natured Ho-ho-ho! Haruhi's last hope hung up the phone.

"HARUHI?! HARUHI, WHERE_ AREEE_ YOU?"

"Your guest has arrived," Hikaru said, trying not to smile, though he didn't seem very happy about relinquishing his hold on the petite girl. "You'd better hide."

"Very funny," Haruhi said, and smiled at the girl whirlwind who was whipping her head around the airport, looking at passing faces and searching for Haruhi's.

"Renge-san, I'm over here!" she called cheerfully, and the twins seemed to melt away as the lighter-haired girl turned to Haruhi, practically bouncing with joy.

"Haruhiisn'tthisexciting?" she asked breathlessly, smiling hugely. "A whole two weeks, just you and me."

"It'll be fun," Haruhi said. While sounding suitably happy to see her, she was unable to muster up enough fake enthusiasm to match Renges'. She was still sore about being guilted into the trip by Renges' teary-eyed disappointment and a promise of knocking thirty customers off of her debt—a paltry amount, but she could tell that Tamaki was nervous about how much debt she had already had shaved off, and that if much more was subtracted she could be done with the Host Club and up-and-leave by the end of her freshman year.

"It will be! It will be fun!" Renge's bubbling brought her out of her irritated stewing. She was absorbing the scene at the commoners' airport with an air of wholehearted enjoyment, despite the fact Tamaki had a thundercloud blooming above his head as Momoka was running later and later. The Host Club had insisted that they book seats in the first calss commoners' airplanes, for the experience and, on Kyoyas' part, so he would be able to run the situation later in life if necessary. Hikaru and Kaoru were strolling off with their arms around the girls they would be entertaining for the vacation, (Haruhi heard the girl walking off with Hikaru call him Kaoru, and saw his shoulders tense—she'd have to remember to correct the girl before she did too much damage) Kyoya was already long gone, and Hunny, when hearing of the sweets offered in the plane, had run off pell-mell with his laughing client trailing behind and Mori of course following, having declined to host this vacation (No one had enough bravery to ask him why).

"Haru, let's board the plane, ne?" Renge twittered, towing her towards the terminal. The plane was due to take off in ten minutes, and Tamaki was still festering and didn't seem to realize the time. Knowing what would ensue if she allowed him to be left behind, she gently detached herself from Renge.

"Just a second, Renge-san," said said, smiling. "You get on the plane and I'll be right on after you."

"But—"

"The last part of Renge's objection (and the middle part for that matter) was cut off by the crowd as Haruhi slipped through it to get Tamaki.

"Senpai," she said, catching his sleeve with her hand so he would stop his pacing. "Why don't you call Momoka?"

"Call?" He said this like he had never heard the word before. "But I don't have her phone—"

"I do," Haruhi said briskly, turning on her phone for the first time a good two weeks. A bombardment of texts greeted her from the twins, a voice mail or six from Hunny, and about a hundred missed calls from various Host Club members. She ignored all of them and scrolled down to Momoka's number on the contact list.

"Here." She handed the phone to Tamaki, who still wasn't on her friends list even though Host Club clients often stole her phone with squeals of laughter and entered their numbers, demanding that she called them often.

"Hello?" he spoke into the phone. "Momoka-san? Where are you? What? You are? No, I didn't get your message, my phone was off until now. I'm sorry. Feel better. Yes . . . sorry again. Good bye." He snapped the phone shut and handed it to her, looking perturbed.

"She's sick. Influenza, like Ranka."

"Oh!" Haruhi said, surprised, just as the last boarding call for their flight sounded over the intercom, over perky and ominous at the same time.

"We've got to run, Tama," Haruhi, aptly dubbed 'Snail Legs' began to jog forward. Tamaki came up behind her, grinning at her slow pace.

"Tama? When did I tell you you could call me Tama?"

She looked at him blankly. "Am I not allowed?" she asked, curious.

"No, no," he said, smiling to himself and giggling inwardly like a little girl. They were good friends now—why couldn't she call him Tama?

"Because I was just kind of cut off. I mean, I didn't mean to say Tama instead of Tamaki. I'm sorry."

"Oh," his heart sunk. "Do we need to get down to the plane fast?"

"Preferably, unless you'd like to be left behind—_what the_—put me down, Tamaki!"

Tamaki had lifted her up, sack o' potatoes style, and slung her over his shoulders and begun to jog even faster through the thick crowd.

"Uhm, Tamaki, this is hardly necessary—!"

"With your snail legs, Snail Legs, yes it is."

Haruhi felt someone pinch her on the prominently displayed bottom, and glared heavily at Tamaki from her head's place bumping against the small of his back.

"Tamaki! You did not just—!" she said, glad to have another thing to scold him for.

"I didn't just what?" he asked curiously, tightening the grip that both his arms had about her knees. Oh. As Haruhi realized he couldn't have done it without making her slip and fall, her face reddened as she mumbled 'Never mind . . .' unable to admit what had caused her trouble without intense embarrassment and not liking what would happen when Tamaki decided to interrogate every airport patron to find the culprit.

They traveled in silence for the next few seconds, and Haruhi was treated only to a backwards glimpse of things, nonsensical blurs of metallic grays and loud noises fading to more soft noise as Tamaki left the busy airport behind them. Though Haruhi's vision was fractured and she found it difficult to piece together what flashed before her eyes, she had good enough view of what seemed to be a very nice carpet to turn beet red.

"Uhm, Tamaki, you can put me down now," she mumbled, and the boy turned a similar shade of red.

"Oh, sorry, Haruhi," he said, sliding her off his shoulder—he tried to touch her as little as possible to minimize her embarrassment, but he ended up having her slither down his chest with his steadying hands on the small of her back as she turned a more artistic red.

The first-class cabin was empty except for the Host Club and their guests, and Haruhi wondered idly if they'd emptied out the entire plane for their trip. The deadpan faces of the twins observed them flatly, but the girls were cheering, delighted with the Tamaki-Haruhi relationship they were certainly going to pretend existed.

"Uhm, where am I sitting?" Haruhi asked, her color fading slightly. The twins pointed, retaining their deadpan, to the seat in between theirs. Straightening her suit jacket (they had come directly from the school, and no one but Renge had managed to change), she strode over to where they were sitting and plopped herself down between them.

"Haruhi, why—"

"We were going to miss the plane," she grumbled, and the twins scoffed.

"We wouldn't have let them take off until you and Tamaki were on the plane with us: they said in their typical unison, smiling identical vague smiles.

"Oh," she mumbled. Of course they could do that. "Rich bastards," she added even though she was slightly grateful in that thanks-for-what-you-could-have-done way.

"We were up late helping Mom design your clothes for the end of the trip, Haruhi,' Kaoru complained, and a soft, white pillow smashed into her head on his side.

"We packed up an extra suitcase too, should you ever feel the need to female cosplay. We're tired, and we did all of it for you." Hikaru said, and his pillow slammed into her other side. She blew a piece of hair out of her face huffily—she was sandwiched between two soft, agreeable Hitachiin pillows, their owners deciding her shoulder made a good headrest, while Tamaki, looking wounded, trudged off to where Kyoya had reserved him a seat. Renge was next to one of her friends who was accompanying Hunny, absorbed in the screen of her laptop.

"Nighty-night, Haruhiii," They chorused, and left her in between, inflicted with a slight pout because her cheeks were being pushed out by the pillows.

"Geb owff me," she grumbled, and they made no reply. After a few minutes of irritated stewing, she groped around the floor beneath her seat for her carry-on, a black mesh drawstring backpack, something that Arai had made her in the sewing class in middle school. Her cheeks heated when she thought about what thoughts had accompanied what she thought a nice gift had been from his point of view. She caught one of the strings with her forefinger and lifted it into her lap, withdrawing a book from it's depths.

"Ooh!'

Of course the twins had snapped to attention at the cover, why she had brought this along she had no idea, it looked a bit odd for a guy to be toting around a romance book and even odder that it was named 'Symmetry', which was the Hitachiins largest selling point.

"We didn't know you read romance, Haruhi."

For someone so dense as to not notice it when it hits her in the head, they thought as one.

"I don't, usually," she replied, clutching the book protectively to her chest. "But my friend made me join a book club to broaden my horizons and this is what I have to read for the next two weeks."

"Liar!" Kaoru snickered, spotting Haruhi's unskillful lie easily. "You're a romance book reader!"

"I was on the mend," she grumbled, but Kaoru snatched the book anyway.

"Anna thought the English countryside was peaceful—" He began to read melodramatically from the back of the book, but Hikaru snatched it away before he could get a full sentence out.

"But she finds it even more intoxicating than her old French—" Kaoru managed to snatch it back.

"Life in Paris when the twins James and Charles—"

"Take a large interest in her in a way no one else has before. When one day—"

"She finds herself—"

The passages they read got longer and longer as they figured out more elaborate ways to keep the revered book away from the other brother. Haruhi leaned forward, deciding it would be best if she could grab the book away before they read to the part about her falling for them back, when _crack! _Kaoru's searching hand contacted her nose, and she fell back against the seat, her eyes wide, her nose crooked at an odd angle, blood seeping down from the nostrils.

"Oh my," she said, her fingers reaching up and touching the blood now dripping steadily down her face. "That really hurts," she added conversationally, like they were speaking about the weather, only that it came out more like 'Dab weawy howahs.'

"Fuck! I'm sorry, Haruhi!" Kaoru said, his eyes wide. "Did I break your nose? I'm so—excuse me? Could we get a stewardess over her, please?"

"Dub wobby aout me, Kay-woo," she begged, and he blinked at her. "Do big dwah. I'm bine."

"It doesn't matter," Kyoya said, walking quickly over and flipping open a first aid kit. "I have a basic medical training, Haruhi, would you lean forward please?"

She complied, her eyes twitching, trying not to raise her fingers to the bleeding, painful orifice.

Hikaru watched his brother carefully. After all he'd said, all he'd assured his brother, he still wanted to be around Haruhi, wanted to be around her, looked uncomfortable as Kyoya leaned close to Haruhi, his face just a few inches from hers.

"Hmm."

"Ow."

"Huh-uhmmm."  
"Ow."

"Mom? What are you doing to our, er, offspring?" Tamaki demanded, not liking the kneeling position Kyoya was in nor the squeaks issuing from their 'daughter'.

"Kaoru might have broken her nose," Kyoya said, probing it another time and frowning as she winced again. Tamaki gasped, and soon there was a buzzing crowd of worried girls milling about, looking worriedly at Haruhi but not stepping forward to help. "Is the pain unbearable, Haruhi?"

"Nab wewe," she said, and winced again. "More ub a booze door poking ab.'

"It's not broken then," he assured her. "Kaoru just hit you pretty hard."

"Why would you do that to my daughter, Kaoru?" Tamaki asked sternly, refraining from childish wailing in front of the clients.

"Uhm," he said, screwing up his eyes in thought. "It was an accident. I was trying to get something from Hikaru."

The offending book lay where it had fallen between the seats, forgotten.

**-x-**

Twenty minutes later, bandaged, cleaned, grumpy, and declining Tamaki's offers to kill Kaoru for her, Haruhi sat asleep, leaning on Kaoru's shoulder, grace of Ouran uniform shoulder pads, and Kaoru had been discreetly nuzzling her soft black hair for a good ten. She didn't seem to mind, being asleep, and her hair smelled tangly of lemons, an odd but extremely pleasant scent for shampoo.

"Kaoru," his brother hissed, end Kaoru jumped, for once not hyper aware of his twins' presence.

"What, Hikaru?" he whispered back, sniffing her hair again and hoping he didn't leech all the smell out of it before she woke.

"Lean Haruhi over here, I want a turn."

"You what?"

"You've been all over her hair for ten minutes. Lean her over here."

"_What_?"

"Seriously, Kaoru,.

"No," he declined. "I am the well-established homosexual here, and my client knew just what she was getting when she dropped her name into my basket. It's okay from me to have Haruhi. You, on the other hand, are generally defined as bi, and how is your client going to feel when she looks over here and sees you cozying up to another man—besides me, of course," he said, fluttering his eyelashes.

"But," Hikaru said shrewdly, observing Kaoru carefully. "Doesn't that make you bi too?"

"What?"

"Well, if you're all for cuddling Haruhi, doesn't that make you bi as well? I mean," he lowered his voice, but the smug tone couldn't be beaten out of it with a broom. "A disguise is only a disguise."

"Huh," Kaoru said, mouth drying. Of course, he'd fallen a little bit for Haruhi, but that was okay. She was dressed up as a guy, which made it normal—as normal as this situation could get, presently—for him to feel drawn to her as a homosexual.

But to be bi . . . that was interesting of Hikaru to think.

Hikaru was always the one to charm the girls even better than he, to blush and tag along while Kaoru flirted shamelessly with his own twin brother. The two weren't sure where the line of being straight and being crooked fell, and if their intense love for each other and a loathe feeling to be separated by other women as well as their twincest act made them fall on the orientation line. It was odd, but certainly an interesting analysis.

"I don't think so," he said, and gently tilted the still-sleeping Haruhi towards his brother.

**-x-**

"Ah, the beach!" Tamaki crowed, stepping off the plane (they'd taken a private jet to the specific island, the clients had grown weary of commoner-travel.) and beaming at the white-gold ridges of sand and the crystal waters that crashed not thirty feet from the hotel, whose roof they were presently poised on, with a clutch of beaming maids and several men dressed in suits waiting for them.

"It is quite beautiful," Kaoru's client agreed, staring a little red-faced at where Tamaki's hand clasped hers. (He'd somehow managed to divert her from Kaoru) "With the waves crashing on the sand."

"Ah, my dear," Tamaki said, switching easily into host-mode, which made a bead of sweat roll down the back of Haruhi's scalp as she helped Renge down the stairs of the plane. "Can you not hear the sounds of your heart crashing against your ribs? Or mine, indeed?"

"Tamaki-sama," she said quietly. "Don't you have your own girl to host?"

Thus saying, she dropped his hand and wandered off to Kaoru, who smirked at Tamaki mockingly. Tamaki's jaw had dropped, and a thundercloud was blooming over his head, but the cough of one of the men in suits brought their attention back to the employees.

"Mr. Suou, sir, the rooms you requested are prepared just below," he said graciously. "And one of the auxiliary dining rooms has been modified as asked."

"Thank you," he said, beaming. "Good man!"

They were guided down off the roof onto the lush and ornate hallways on the third floor, and Kyoya took up his role as chaperon.

"Ladies, the maids will direct you to your rooms. Remember that tomorrow we booked several spa treatments to revive you from the trying journey, and that the Host Club will be residing in the auxiliary dining room on the second floor if you are in need of any help whatsoever. Our extension is written on the notepads in your rooms and the staff will be able to help you whatever you need."

"Thank you, Kyoya-senpai!" Renge chirped, and waved enthusiastically to Haruhi as a maid led her off down the hallway, followed by the rest of the clientèle.

"Why did you have to bring along clients, and permanent ones at that?" Hikaru and Kaoru complained, glaring at Kyoya, who smiled darkly.

"The profit made from selling raffle tickets is enough to cover not only the entire trip but also a complete set of costumes. It was quite the money-maker," he said, as if the funds made the irritation of having long-term fangirls hanging on you for two weeks.

"Why are we staying in the auxiliary dining room?" Haruhi asked, following the rest of the club, which was tmp-tmp-tmping after Tamaki.

"Because!" the blond said enthusiastically. "I had it remodeled so that it was like we all could sleep in there at once! Isn't that fun? It'll be like a night sleeping over at Haruhi's only every night—"

"What?" Haruhi asked blankly. "I'm sharing a room with all of you?"

"Well, you have a bed and a partition," Tamaki said, like this made it all right.

"Is it lockable?" she queried.

"Well, no. But who locks doors on vacation? No one! Not—"

"I need to when I'm sharing a house with you people," she stormed, and turned to a maid who was keeping in step with them. "Excuse me, I'm awfully sorry for the trouble, but could I have a room to my—"

"Don't listen to her," Tamaki said loudly. "She has to experience a Host Club sleepover!"

"I do not want to experience anything of the sort!"

This made the twins laugh.

"Please, Haruhi?" he asked, looking like he might cry.

"You have to, Haru-Haru!" Honey said, similarly tearing up.

"I can't believe what I do for you people," she grumbled, striding ahead of a confused maid, which elicited a cheer from the Host Club.

-x-

**Wow, this chapter got to be long. It was mostly transition—pretty listless, but I'll make them more riveting in the future! I was considering splitting it into two but—no matter. You love it anyway, right? 3 R&R and I'll love you forever.**

**-Vacancy**


	3. Sleepless Night

**A/N: I've decided that I'm dropping the honorifics. They're a pain in my proverbial neck, and Haruhi might call Tamaki 'Senpai', or I might use a few random Japanese words, just because, but I'm so confused with what goes where. Just thought I'd let you know, from not on: no titles.**

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club in any way shape or form.

Chapter Three

_Sleepless Nights_

"Haruhi, he wasn't joking when he said there wasn't a lock."

"I know," she said, scrutinizing the suspiciously lock like-item that jutted out of the keyhole of the door to her partition. Just to be sure. In case Tamaki had felt pity on her and installed one. She felt like she was trapped in a spacious, comfortable cubicle, which unto itself wasn't very offending, but more the fact that anyone in the Host Club could barge in without knocking, even though they'd promised not to do so—she trusted them about as far as she could throw them (this applied accordingly to the easily-thrown Hunny, whom Haruhi felt immensely fond of).

Slants of red-gold beach sunset light cascaded down from the large bay windows, tinting her room a rosy shade. She'd felt uncomfortable when she first walked into the room/cubicle, but since it was going to be her living quarters for a good two weeks she'd decided to make it her own and like it that way.

"Fine! There's no lock!" she said, not managing very well to keep a note of panic out of her voice. She stepped out of the dark-wood door (that probably cost more than all of the doors in her house combined) and frowned at where the Host Club was splayed out on the sea of pillows that was the common area.

The auxiliary dining room wasn't as large as the normal one, but Tamaki had still managed to cram enough rooms for all of them and then a large, circular lowered pit which was essentially filled with cushions and pillows for the boys to lounge about it. She picked up a soft-looking pillow and the price tag that someone had forgotten to remove made her feel sick.

"Tamaki?" she called out, looking about for the blond boy. Kyoya was sitting straight-backed at his laptop, the twins had their door shut to their little room, and Mori and Hunny were sitting quietly at a table, the former reading a newspaper, looking very sophisticated, and the latter shoveling cake into his mouth as per usual.

Tamaki surfaced from underneath the pillows, his cheeks pink, on his hands and knees and looking rather like he had when he decided to look through the water for her things when they first met—invigorated and utterly silly.

"I'm going to bring some tea to Renge," she called. "Where is the kitchen?"

"There's a map behind you."

"A _map_—" She turned around and there it was, the Suou vacation home in it's entirety, on a carefully labeled map stuck onto the wall. Trying not to let the vein throbbing in her forehead show, she traced her path down to the kitchens, and then up to Renges' room, and bade the Host Club a loud goodbye, because God knew what they would do if she didn't show up for twenty minutes—they'd probably assume she got eaten by a shark and hold a memorial service by the time she got back down.

While making her way down the hallway, she found a gold, old-style phone on a small side-table, and she picked it up, dialing extension six. She should have thought to call and make sure her visit would be welcomed before she decided to go.

"Hello?"

"Renge? This is Haruhi."

"Eeee! It is! What are you calling for, Ha-ru-hi?"

"I was wondering if you would object to me bringing you up some tea."

"Of course not! You know, all the other girls are moping about their hosts avoiding them, but not _you_, Haruhi, I know _you_ wouldn't—"

"Thank you, Renge, that's very kind. I'll be up in ten minutes, okay?"

"Sure!"

As she hung up, Haruhi had to suppress the urges to laugh. She had been doing this entirely so that Renge would be happy with the service she received and wouldn't complain to Kyoya. (Certainly he would take any opportunity to make her pay for it some way or another—the episode at Nekozawa's beach still made her shiver) Haruhi was supposed to be the down-to-earth, kind host, she couldn't get away with half of what the twins did as far as ignoring their customers. As she descended the steps to the kitchen, she thought again she could've simply called down for some tea, but she flat-out couldn't get used to the rich way. They wouldn't mind, would they, if she just came down?

The staircase got louder and louder as she drew closer to the basement kitchen. Clanging pots, dishwashers hum-hum-shhhhing, steam swirling around her face, the smells of good food drifting up to her. When she reached the open threshold that was the entrance to the kitchen, she couldn't help but stop to admire it.

A few maids were sitting around a table in the corner, eating and gossiping. Chrome dishwashers, ovens, refrigerators, countertops, freezers—the air was scented with herbs and the smell of seasoned food as the leftovers from dinner were cleared away and washed—it was extremely pleasant and she wanted to help very badly.

After much bowing and asking her if she would like this or that added to the tray, what kind of tea would she prefer, how many it should be set for, a smiling maid carried it up the stairs for her, though looking a bit confused as to why she would insist on carrying it the rest of the way herself.

"Renge?" Haruhi asked, standing in the girls' doorway, knocking lightly on the wide-open door.

"Haruhi!" Renge looked up from where she had apparently been trying to shove a pen set into a drawer in the fine mahogany desk. She smiled widely at the tea tray with little star-shaped cakes and tasteless sugar cookies to munch on while sipping.

"Good afternoon, Renge-," Haruhi said politely, setting the tray down on the small parlor table around which Renge had arranged two chairs. She took her time carefully setting down cups and plates and the small carousel that housed all the delicate little fineries.

"Oh!" Renge said, walking over to the table and seating herself. "You didn't carry that all this way, did you?"

"It was no trouble."

"Haruhi, you should have had some of the help er, help you with this!"

"Well, you know me," Haruhi said, pouring out two cups of steaming amber-colored tea. "I don't like to make the employees have to do too much."

"But they're paid for it, Haruhi. It's no trouble to them—it's their job."

"I guess it's just the way I think. I wouldn't want to have to carry this, so I spared them the trouble. Would you like some sugar in your tea?"

"Oh, no, thank you," she said, sitting at the chair opposite Haruhi and smiling hugely. "I don't particularly enjoy sweet teas."

"Oh," Haruhi said, dumping another spoonful into what could now be called tea-flavored sugar in her delicate little cup. She liked sweet teas.

"So, Haruhi, how are you finding Barbados so far?" Renge asked, taking a small sugar cookie and nibbling on it delicately.

"It's my job to do the small-talking, Renge," Haruhi said, and smiled. "I guess it's fine. Tamaki's got this idea that beach-time is family-bonding-time, and you know how he sees the Host Club as a family," she smiled again and rested her chin on her hand. "I don't know how we'll get an hour of Hosting in edgewise the way he's going."

"That can't be a very large problem for you, I hear your escapades are extremely enjoyable," Renge said politely. Haruhi heaved a large sigh.

"For them, maybe. None of them got a chance to play as children so they're cramming in all the childlike fun they can have in their high school years. I was luckier and managed to play while it was still normal."

"Oh, so you don't enjoy their little food-shows? Cosplays?"

"No," Haruhi said, and smiled beatifically. "It's having conversations with lovely ladies like yourselves who ingratiate me with your presence that I enjoy."

Renge turned pink and looked like she was about to scream with joy when a knock echoed on her doorframe.

"Renge, I brought what you requested for the kitchen," a polite voice sounded over their heads. Renge turned excitedly to Haruhi and informed her in a lightening-quick voice.

"Momo has been my personal maid since I was thirteen. She's so sweet, we're such good friends! You'll love her, she's just the nicest thing."

Haruhi felt a little amused and slightly sympathetic at how Renge talked about her maid like she wasn't in the room.

"Hello, Fujioka," Momo said politely, bowing a little awkwardly with a large canvas bag clutched in her hands.

"Hello, Momo," Haruhi returned. "Would you like some help with that? Your arms seem to be full . . ."

"Oh, no, I've got it," she said, but she looked a little taken aback. Renge gave Momo the information on Haruhi, and this time she at least spared her the I'm-talking-about-you-like-you're-not-here speech.

"Momo, this is Haruhi. He's my Host for the rest of the two weeks, we'll be spending a lot of time together. He's at Ouran on scholarship, he's a commoner just like you!"

Haruhi flinched, but Momo just smiled serenely at her employers' direct ignorance of any kind of manners. She supposed that being around her longer made her sort of immune. She turned to a half-empty table and started arranging things from her bag on surface, and Renge continued to babble.

"Remember how I manage the Host Club, Momo? Oh, you really should come with me some day, it's simply lovely—oh, the facial things!" she finally spotted the items on the table and she turned to Haruhi with a look of supplication.

"I had Momo fetch some things so that I could give myself a kitchen facial—they're so much more effective than what you buy in stores! But, I have to do that and go to sleep soon, you wouldn't _believe_ the jet lag—"

"It's nothing, Renge" Haruhi cut her off before she could continue to rattle off reasons why she wanted her leave. "Just remember that the Club has arranged for you girls to have a spa day tomorrow to revive you from your journey." She smiled her sincere smile. "I'll see you the day after tomorrow, Renge."

She turned and exited the room, slightly relieved to be out of Renge's speaking trajectory. She was a demanding presence, and she wasn't expressly looking forward to spending a whole two weeks alone. With Renge.

**-x-**

"Um, Tamaki?"

"Yes, Haruhi?"

"Would you mind getting this fabric out of my face?"

Tamaki obliged, pulling what seemed to be an entire reel of satin away from it's immediate location in her nostrils.

"Look what your brothers made for you!" he chirped, brandishing what seemed to be a flouncy ball gown.

"A party dress?"

"No," the Hitachiin twins said, coming up behind her. "It's a nightgown!"

"Why would I wear that to sleep?" Haruhi asked critically, scrutinizing what seemed to be a thousand layers of skirt and a fluffy bodice piece (to compensate for where you have none!) and shook her head. "I'd rip it up in my sleep."

"No you wouldn't," Tamaki said, beaming. "They sewed this with extra-resilient cloth and thread! You can be a princess even when you sleep!"

"But I'm never a princess," Haruhi grumbled, stalking past them towards her door.

"You can be now!" Tamaki cried, ever present. "You can—"

"Tamaki, I already have pajamas, and they are flannel and nice."

"But—"

"Flannel. And. Nice. Go away, Tamaki," she sighed wearily and shut the door to her partition.

Silence reigned for a few moments, other than the tapatapataptap of Kyoya's laptop, a ruffling of sheets in the twins' bedroom (the entire Host Club prayed as one that they were making the bed or napping) and sniffling coming from Tamaki's room. This was what Haruhi hated about this setup. Everyone could hear everything with this lack of concrete or, for that matter, floor-to-ceiling walls.

But she supposed it was a good thing when she needed to summon the twins, her face black with anger.

"Hikaru._ Hitachiin._ Kaoru._ Hitachiin_."

It took them a moment and a few more rustling sheets, but the boys slunk out of their room, decently dressed and smiling identical Cheshire grin.

Haruhi's hand was thrust as far away from her body as possible, as if the blue thing that she had in an iron grip offended her immensley, and it had reason.

It was short, blue, and tight-looking, with white lace along the edges and a small blue bow in the middle of where the neckline to what seemed to be a _nightshirt,_ and the super short shorts that accompanied it.

"Where are my flannel and nice pajamas?" she growled, and the sly grins widened.

"They got lost at the airport. They're with Ranka presently."

"What did you do?" she asked, her eyes crackling.

"We told you packed a suitcase for you. Your old one just got lost," Kaoru explained, smiling widely. "Relax, your guy stuff is at the bottom. But don't you dare go to sleep in any of it, it's all brand new."

"What? This is my only sleeping option?"

"Unless you'd like to be charged for those clothes you'll ruin while sleeping," Kyoya piped up. A vein throbbed in her forehead. She swore she felt an ulcer forming.

"Tamaki!" she said loudly, still in her dark, angry I-am-a-demon-hear-me-rawr voice. The blond was at her side instantly, still clutching the white puffy nightgown.

"My brothers were sexually harassing me!" she explained to Tamaki, grabbed the nightgown and slammed into her room, leaving the rest up to to her protective 'father'.

**-x-**

"Harooheee! Haruhi, we're playing party games!"

"I'm not interested," she sighed, still sifting through the different guys clothes hoping to find a non-designer t-shirt somewhere. Something. Anything to wear but this poofy monstrosity that was billowing out around her wherever she walked. It was making her crazy.

"But Haruhi! We don't know what to play!"

"Hit each other with pillows or something. Thats what normal guys do at sleepovers."

"But that doesn't sound very fun," Tamaki's voice was puzzled. "Why would I want to hit my friends when they didn't do anything?"

"That, Tamaki, is an excellent question," Haruhi said, giving up on the suitcase and flopping onto the bed. "Be sure to ask all the other commoner guys you know."

"But we're bored!"

"I don't care. Go get the girls and play Spin-The-Bottle or something."

Silence on the other side of the door.

"Why would we want to spin bottles with our clients?" he asked, curious. "Is this of any relation to Kick the Can?"

Haruhi thought of kissing Kasanoda after kicking a can at him and had to stifle giggles.

"Oh-oh-oh, never mind. Just go to sleep."

"Haruhi, what do you do at commoner sleepovers?"

A pause.

"Well, Tamaki, I've never been to an all-guy sleepover."

Another pause.

"Well, what do you do at your girl sleepovers?"

"I've only been to a few of them, but in my experience they're constituted mostly of giggling and devising new ways to embarrass yourself with pointless games like Truth or Dare. Do with that what you will, I'm going to sleep."

"Haruhi, will you help us play?"

"Tamaki."

"Just one game. I swear. Only one."

"Fine, but only one."

Before she could get up and open the door, it was thrown open by a hyperactive blond boy who squealed with girlish delight at her fluffy attire.

"Alright, what game do you want to play?" she asked, brushing past him to where the other boys were gathered in the newly-dubbed Pillow Pit.

"It's even more fun when you jump!" Tamaki enthused, staring affectionately at the three foot drop, seemingly unupset by her brusque manner. And he pushed her in.

She supposed it would have been fun if she had jumped in on her own accord and cannonball'd onto an expanse of fluffy, empty pillows. However, this was not the case. Tamaki had not given thought to where she would land, and simply shoved her over. Which caused her to face plant—onto Takashi's lap. There was a beat of utter and total silence, in which Haruhi took a large intake of angry breath, and then realized, exactly, why there was a denim seam scratching her face.

"Ohmygod, Senpai!" Haruhi shrieked, righting herself and then hanging her head. "I'm so so sorry!"

"You're not the one who should be sorry," he rumbled, glaring at the firetruck-red Tamaki.

"Didn't know you were into that sort of thing, Haruhi," the twins said as one, deciding that this was too good an opportunity to pass up in the face of embarrassing Haruhi. "Us next, ne?"

"Shut up!" Haruhi said, her face a red darker than any shade she'd ever turned before the beginning of the summer break, as Tamaki was in no fit state to beat them. She scrabbled for something to say to divert attention from her and her embarrassing face plant. "So, what games did you want to play?"

"What games do you know, Haruhi?" Hunny asked, all to happy to help her shift the attention.

"Girl ones," she said. "Guys beat each other up, eat, and make perverted comments at their sleepovers."

The twins touched the bruises on their arms, courtesy of Tamaki. "Check off beat each other up and make perverted comments, Haruhi."

"Well, what are girl games?" Tamaki said, jumping into the pit and fumbling into a sitting position next to Haruhi in between her and the twins.

"I'm not participating in any," she forewarned. "But there's Truth or Dare, Would You Rather, Spin the Bottle if there are guys present."

"Those games don't sound very fun," Kaoru complained.

"They aren't. Like I said, I'm not a fan of sleepovers. They're just an excuse for people to embarrass each other all in the spirit of good fun, and you all do that without games."

"But embarrassment _is_ fun," Hikaru said, and Kyoya let out a short laugh from his computer. Haruhi blinked.

"You're right, these are vapid excuses to embarrass your friends." He swiveled his Pineapple screen to where he'd looked up the party games she'd named. The twins clambered over and scanned the screen. Haruhi started to pick herself up and walk away, but not before she saw the identical grins spread over their faces.

"Haruhi, lets play Seven Minutes in Heaven."

"Oh, no. I told you I'm not participating. You were warned."

"Fine. Let's play Truth or Dare!"

"Lets not!"

"How about Would You Rather?"

"Forget it."

"Haruhi, you promised! Just one round of a game!"

She considered. Would You Rather was a fairly innocuous game, and she wasn't likely to be as lucky with Truth or Dare (God forbid she ever played that around them), Seven Minutes in Heaven or Spin the Bottle.

"Fine. One round of Would You Rather," she agreed, although she often felt the game a succession of gross-out questions.

"Wait—" Tamaki objected. "How do you play?"

"It's easy, Tamaki, you'll find out in a–"

"Haruhi, would you rather kiss me or Kaoru?" came the inevitable from Hikaru's mouth.

"Kaoru, just because you asked me that," she returned.

"Haruhi, would you rather miss a day of school or a day of food?"

"School," Haruhi replied predictably. "But aren't there some rules about how many times you can ask one person a question in a row?"

"Haruhi!" Hunny cried. "Would you prefer to have my Bun-Bun or Tamaki's Beary?"

"Bun-Bun," she said immediately to spare Hunnys' feelings.

"I'll pass," Mori said quietly.

"No, Takashi!" Hunny objected., pitching his voice into a low whine. "Come on, you have to!"

"Fine. Tamaki, would you rather divulge what activities you subjected Haruhi to that night we found you together in Nekozawa's mansion or tell us why you turned into an empty shell when you found out Kasanoda was falling in love with Haruhi?"

"What?" Haruhi interrupted, looking confused, but Tamaki cut over her.

"The latter," He turned to Haruhi. "Would you rather quit the Host Club when you pay your debt, or would you stay until graduation?"

It was quiet a minute, and no one raised their eyes to look at Haruhi, too afraid of what they might see.

"I would stay with it until the end."

And everyone could see her smile.

-s-

"Haruhi."

"Yes, Kyoya?" she asked, pausing in the threshold of her room, her dress floating around her knees in a repellingly feminine way. All the other Host Club members had long ago gone to bed, succumbed to jet lag, but Kyoya had decided to stay up, encouraging a foul mood in the morning, and Haruhi had lain stretched on the cushions, luxuriating in her book and not wanting to sleep. She had finally given in to the idea of slumber a few minutes ago, and the sound of Kyoya's voice sounded loud as a gunshot in the nighttime still.

"You looked surprised when Takashi mentioned Ritsu Kasanoda loving you."

"Yes," she said, blushing slightly.

"Haruhi," he said, then sighed, paused, adjusting his glasses. "Let me tell you something. People might say that Tamaki, Hikaru—even Kaoru, he told it directly to you—are in love with you."

"Kyoya—" she said, her face turning a darker pink.

"Just listen, Haruhi. They themselves try to tell you how much they care about you in their own roundabout ways—"

"Please, Kyoya—"

"But you're blind to everything that even the most naive would call obvious. But thats not my point, though it's something to work on. The point is that you can be led to think that they all love you. They don't, really. They like you because you're an enigma. You're a girl who's part of their all-male order, who's a commoner as well. You have a few talents that they admire."

"Kyoya—" she said, then turned her head away from the dark-haired boy's intent gaze. "I never asked or wanted anything but they're friendship. And if they asked for anything more—I wouldn't be able to give it to them."

And from behind four closed doors, five boys winced, and knew that sleep wouldn't come easily that night.

**-x-**

**What do you think?**

**Good? Bad? R&R to let me know!**

**-Vacancy**


	4. Semi Refined Gentlemen

A/N: **I have a feeling that those authors who put up the chapter number, what pairing it is, the rating, etc., at the top of their story even though there's an automatic copy about an inch above your story, are just making more space. To make the little scrolly caterpillar shrink in the scrolly bar ('cause I'm a straight-up techie-gal). And no, I'm not mocking you or denouncing you, and I'm not even shouting "FRAUD! FRAUD! BURN THEM!" I am applauding you. **

**Another day, another page or so to put on the chapter—hope you like this one! There's a bit of HaruxMori in this one, but you have to sort of squint to find it.**

Disclaimer**:** _I do not own Ouran High School Host Club _

**Chapter Four:**

_Semi-Refined Gentlemen_

Tamaki lay wrinkled and miserable on Kyoya's bed, his lower legs hanging off the edge of the plush, surface (extra-soft mattress), glaring heavily at the dark-haired boy as he adjusted the sleeves of his shirt.

"_Why_ did you have to ask her those things, Kyoya? Or point them out? Now I—"

"It's not a big deal, Tamaki. You're overreacting, as usual" Kyoya said calmly, rolling up the sleeves of his patterned button-down shirt carefully.

"It is a large deal," Tamaki disagreed, moaning. "If she thought those things to herself, thats entirely different than having you point them out and hang them in front of her! Suspicions are one thing, now she's had them verified, never mind they were wrong! You even told her none of us cared about her! How _dare_—"

"All the cards are on the table," Kyoya cut him off smoothly, observing his reflection in the mirror with a small frown."She now knows what could stand in her way should she ever choose any of us—that the feeling is fancy, and nothing more. Strong if you help it grow, but fleeting should she walk away. All that remains is a decision to be made."

"Kyoya, _I_—" Tamaki started, then stopped, narrowed his eyes at Kyoya and sitting up on the bed. His rumpled gold hair fell into his eyes. "You said 'any of us'. What—?"

Silence lay between the best friends, their opposite natures more obvious than they'd been in months, despite all their warring to keep them from standing between them—Tamaki, open, naïve, his heart prominently displayed on his elegant sleeve. Kyoya, the Shadow King, the Demon Lord, emotions lying shrouded beneath layers of ambition and logic. His face was hidden from Tamaki as he considered the objects littering his laureate, but he could see his glasses glinting opaque in the light, and a small smile on his lips.

"The whole club cares for her now, no matter what the circumstance. Why should the Demon Lord be kept from little Demon Number Three?"

**-x-**

The sounds of breakfast at noon chimed through the main dining room, soft and unobtrusive. The tinkle of forks being laid on plates to take a sip of water. The rustle of a newspaper being studiously read. The quiet requests to pass the eggs. It sounded like any other groggy, polite breakfast that any group of semi refined gentlemen suffering from jet lag might indulge in.

It was also the strangest thing Fujioka had seen in a while, and that included Tamaki in a hula skirt.

"Pass the butter," she said, and Hikaru wordlessly handed her the dish, and his fingers didn't 'accidentally' tip the glass of water just under his wrist onto her lap, and his fingers didn't brush hers for an extra count of seconds, nor did he tease her about how much food was on her plate.

It was disconcerting.

As she spread the butter over her piece of gold-brown toast, just the way she liked it, she was scrutinizing all the boys' faces with excruciating finite attention, trying to find what made them so sober (and it certainly wasn't fatigue, Tamaki made noise until he dropped down asleep).

"So, Kyoya," she said loudly. "Whats on the agenda for today?"

"Nothing, really," he said calmly, turning the finance section in the newspapers cover over. "I left a day free of itinerary to adjust to the jet lag and familiarize yourselves with the setting while the clients are otherwise engaged. Feel free to take a trip down to the beach or sleep or explore the local territory."

"Oh," she said, and the word plopped like a stone into the wordless silence.

She sipped her water. She jostled Hikaru with her elbow. She dissolved into a fake coughing fit into her arm, and no one thumped her on the back, no one was looking at her with anything but mild concern when she resurfaced. What had she done?

They ate in silence.

"Haru-chan, do you want to come down to the beach with Takashi and me?" Hunny asked, smiling hugely, breaking the silence. Haruhi smiled back, but tried not to seem overeager.

"That would be fun," she said pensively. "Do you like sand castles, Hunny?"

"I love sand castles, and so does Takashi!" beamed the small boy, turning to his large, gentle companion, who nodded minutely in reply—Haruhi was struck with the mental image of Mori placing a flag atop the tower of a sand castle and proclaiming it his kingdom and had to make herself not laugh.

"Let me know when you're going down to the beach, ne?" she asked, poking at her American breakfast.

"Sure, Haru-chan!" he chirped. "We were planning to go a little while after breakfast!"

"Okay, Hunny," she said, and smiled again at the little boy, her savior. She didn't know why everyone was being so cold this morning—had she said something this morning that she didn't remember? Were they mad she'd replied she'd rather kiss Kaoru—she had only been joking! She'd rather kiss none of them!

"Haruhi," Tamaki said, rousing himself slightly from his somber silence staring at his plate, marked as per usual by bars of black depression hanging over him. "Don't forget to wear the swimsuit your brothers packed you. It's very nice . . . be a girl . . ." he trailed off into mumbling at his plate.

"Since I don't have any other options, thank you _very_ much, Kaoru and Hikaru, okay," Haruhi conceded. "I'll have to pretend to be my visiting cousin for the day."

Three sets of ears perked up, and three people asked to come along eagerly on an expedition previously holding no interest to them.

The fourth decided it would be wisest to come along—the photos would be valuable and God knew they needed a chaperon.

**-x-**

"Is everyone okay?" she asked dubiously, eying the quiet-enough-to-be-in-a-funeral-procession around her. This was getting eerie. When she had stumped down the stairs in the frilly bathing suit and sarong, a bag slung over her shoulder, no one had cooed. There had been no group hugs. They were still silent, and she was worried—and okay, maybe selfishly, perhaps she had grown accustomed to having handsome men obsess over her.

"We're fine," Tamaki grumbled, and Haruhi sighed. Only Hunny was acting normal, as it was hard to tell with Mori, bouncing around a few feet ahead of them with his ever-present caretaker. Her feet sank into the sand, making it difficult to walk—but she couldn't deny the pleasantness of the landscape, the air thick with the smell of beach—warmth, sunblock, salty brine, and the sunshiny smell of sand. It was slow going on the sand-paved road to the beach, but it seemed that Hunny had reached their destination, just a dozen feet into what could safely be called 'beach', only a handful of yards away from the trees, for he had flopped down on the dimpled sand with a beatific smile on his face.

Haruhi dropped to her knees a few feet away, spreading out a towel on the sand. She didn't particularly enjoy swimming, but she was more than happy to lie on the beach and adopt the heavy, drowsy feeling of lying under a hot sun.

Tamaki and the twins sprinted off into the surf almost immediately, and in a few minutes they were splashing about happily, laughing and dunking each other underneath the water, the sounds of happiness so evident Haruhi winced. She felt, even more, that their strange, brooding silence was all her fault.

She set about laying out the towels for the boys to relax on when they returned, adjusting the umbrella over Kyoyas' head at his insistence, and over to Hunny, who had fallen asleep in the comfortable warm, where she was entertaining ideas of lying down on her towel.

"Haruhi," Mori said, and she jumped a little, having forgotten he sat there, her eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight as she looked over to where Mori sat on the far side of little Hunny.

"Yes, Senpai?" she queried, shading her eyes.

"Do you have any sunblock?" he asked in his low voice. "I forgot to tell Mitsukuni to apply any before we left Tamaki's home and I'm afraid he'll burn."

"Oh, yeah," she mumbled, pulling out the little turquoise bottle. "Here." She squirted some onto Mori's outstretched, expectant hand.

"Thank you, Haruhi."

"No problem."

She watched silently as he scooped some of the mound of orange-ish sunscreen in his hand with his opposite index finger and start to put it on Hunny's arm. It was almost like the twincest act, only more tender, like a father with a child or a caretaker with his ward (essentially the case in point).

"Let me help you," she said, taking some lotion from his hand and starting to smear it on his other arm. Hunny's skin was unbearably soft, and it was slow going, as neither of them wanted to wake him and witness the terror that be.

"Mori," she said, breaking the silence, wiping off some extra sunscreen on his hand and squirting some onto her finger and rubbing small circles on Hunny's chest. "I have a question for you."

"Yes?" he asked, and Haruhi couldn't decipher the expression on his face.

"Is Hunny really like he is in the Host Club—loli-shota? All the time?"

More stopped moving a second, face a mask of thought.

"I cannot get into Mitsukuni's mind," he said after a beat, resuming motion. "But he has said things of wisdom beyond his age, and far ahead that of the age he appears to be. He enjoys cute things like cakes and bunnies, true, and I feel he likes to dwell in childhood because it was a time in which the things he adores were acceptable in a way they often aren't now. But . . ." he trailed off, rubbing circles on Hunny's cheeks as Haruhi mirrored his actions on the other side of his pert little nose. "I believe he exaggerates these traits for the sake of the Host Club."

"Huh," Haruhi said pensively, and concentrated on exterminating a white strip of unabsorbed lotion on Hunny's chest. "Hunny is much more muscled than you'd expect . . ." even though she'd seen the havoc the small boy could wreak with his little hands, feeling the iron bands of muscle beneath that soft skin was somehow even more disturbing than the memories of him taking down a small army.

"We all are," Mori said. "In the kendo club and in the martial arts clubs. You have to be."

"Huh," Haruhi said. "Do you enjoy kendo, Mori?"

"It is necessary for me to learn precision and control," he replied as if it worked to the same end, slightly baffled.

"Maybe I could come to one of your kendo competitions. I've never been to one," she said, distracted by her own thoughts on the subject.

He looked surprised, and opened his mouth to reply, when a short scream sounded over the sand.

"Haruhi! What acts are you participating in with that wide eyed perpetrator of sin?!"

Tamaki's wails of concern woke Hunny, whose eyes snapped open the second he was jarred from slumber, and under the film of sleep, the pupils looked hard, black. His arm whipped out and caught Haruhi's wrist, yanking her down so he could observe her face. And he relaxed.

"Oh, Haru-chan!" he chirped, planting a chaste kiss on her cheek and giggling. He let her go, and the hard thing in his eyes had melted into a pool of chocolate. "You startled me!"

"S-sorry, Hunny," Haruhi stuttered, gearing up to apologize profusely, still scared witless by the explosion on the small boys' face, but she was cut off by being tackled from behind by an eccentric blond, causing her face to smash into the sand.

"Little supporter of evil!" he bawled at Hunny. "How could you—"

Haruhi felt the pressure life off her back, and she scrambled over into a sitting position, spitting out sand and wiping her hands over her eyes to try to rid her eyelashes of the grit.

Mori was holding Tamaki in the air by his armpits, and the blond was making _eep-eep-eep_ing noises.

"Haruhi and I were putting sunscreen on Mitsukuni so he wouldn't get sunburn."

"Oh, thats why Haru-chan's hand was on my stomach," Hunny warbled, smiling, unaware of the damage he'd done.

"What?!" Tamaki exploded, struggling in Mori's grip.

"Sunscreen, Tamaki," Haruhi said, then sighed. "Would you mind putting him down, please, Mori?"

"Yes," he said, lowering Tamaki to the ground. Haruhi, who was still sitting on the ground and looking a little irritated, was suddenly enveloped on two sides by arms, lifting her onto her feet with a jerk.

"Haruhi, you had us worried," Hikaru purred into her ear from behind. "We thought you had decided you preferred Hunny."

"But you like us best, right?" his twin said, pressing closer to Haruhi. They had her sandwiched in between them front-to-front, unlike their usual chaste shoulder-to-shoulder hugs, and they were both pressing close, making it difficult to breath.

"I actually do prefer Hunny," she said breathily, finding it a chore to get out words. "Now let me go, I'm suffocating."

With crestfallen (but not surprised, at least they'd learned that much) looks, they let her go and shot looks at Hunny, who was grinning.

"I'm your favorite, Haru-chan?"

"You're not irritating," she qualified. She immediately had the breath knocked out of her again as Hunny pelted her with a tight hug and knocked her into the twins, who stepped out of the way, uncharitable with rejection, and allowed her to topple to the ground.

She lay with her legs spread out, Hunny sitting between them on his knees and staring at her with shining eyes.

"Will you be my sister, Haru-chan?"

And they couldn't help it, everybody laughed.

**-x-**

"Hikaru?"

"Yeah, Kaoru?"

"Whats that noise?"

"Perhaps a car starting?"

"A motorcycle doing laps around the mansion?"

"Haruhi's snoring?"

"Bingo."

They lay still for a beat of silence, then giggled simultaneously, squirming in each others arms. Haruhi's snoring was legend. If you were unfortunate enough to be in the same room (as told tearfully by Ranka), as Haruhi when she turned over onto her back while asleep, the terror! Sleep would certainly not come for you poor souls that night.

Their whispering couldn't possibly drown out the loud _Snnnkkk-nk-nk_ as Haruhi drew in breath, and she'd been at it for a good two hours.

"We're going to have to do something," a twin, nameless in the black, whispered to his image.

"You know there isn't a lock on her door . . ."

"Oh, Hikaru, we promised," Kaoru said, but slipped away from his brother and out of bed. Hikaru was quick to follow suit, and they stood silent, grinning at each other, before creeping—absolute silence was not required, even through the unwise construction, due to Haruhi's thunderous snores.

"Thats hers there, right?" Kaoru whispered, pointing at the only door that was shut securely.

"Whose would it be, if not hers?" Hikaru whispered back, and they skirted the pillow storm, sliding up towards her door and very gently turning the handle. It made a small _snick!_ sound, but Haruhi hadn't braced a chair against the opening or even shoved a dresser up against the threshold. She'd been too tired, falling into bed and, it seemed, rolling onto her back.

Her face wasn't visible in the vague moonlight slanting in from outside, but her location was obvious, the root of the deafening sound issuing from those little rosy lips.

"Haruhi sleeps pretty soundly, right?" Hikaru whispered to his brother, creeping alongside him towards th bed.

"I think," Kaoru replied, a note of doubt in his voice. His brother didn't notice, it being drowned out by aforementioned noise.

"Good. Now I'll take her right side, and you take her left, and we very carefully push her onto her side."

"Right!" Kaoru said, slithering to Haruhi's left and levering himself up on the heavy beaming of the wood that supported the box spring and mattress. He could see her delicately-featured face under the moonlight, and if she had not been emitting terrible snoring noises, he would have been struck again by how lovely she was, and pained at how he could never have both her and Kaoru.

The pure white sheets lay in a flurry around her as she turned her head from side to side, snoring, occasionally murmuring nonsensically between between breaths. Kaoru gently wiggled his fingers under her rib cage, and he could barely feel the weight of her beneath layers and layers of nightgown. He suddenly regretted their fluffy-bodice idea.

"On three we turn her onto her side," Hikaru whispered, his hands ready to steady her should she fall onto her stomach.

"Right."

"One . . ."

"Two . . ."

"Th—"

"Hikaru?" Haruhi murmured sleepily, blinking at the elder twin. Kaoru froze, and he could hear the telltale stillness in the large dining-room gone dorm that told so much—Haruhi had stopped snoring, and said one of the Hitachiins' names loud enough for everyone to hear and stop breathing for a second (awakened as they surely were by Haruhi's 'dainty' snores).

"What are you doing in my room?" she asked, her voice still fuzzy and her eyes still unfocused. Kaoru was slowly sliding his fingers out from underneath her ribs, but the small movement jerked her fully into consciousness and she turned over snatched his arm before he could slink away. "What is—why are—get _out_—"

"HIKARU! KAORU!"

Tamaki had entered the room in a flurry of blond hair and blue nightclothes, holding what appeared to be an aluminum baseball bat.

"Tamaki—" Haruhi began, then shook her head and let it fall back on the pillow, deciding that she would never accept another vacation offer from the Host Club if they paid her back the eight million yen.

"YOU ARE ACCOSTING OUR PRINCESS AS SHE SLEEPS!"

"I'm not asleep," Haruhi protested weakly, and ducked as Tamaki's baseball bat whizzed past her ear. "Tamaki—put that down! You're going to hurt someone!"

"Thats the general idea," he grumbled, but lowered the bat and glowered at the twins, whose unflappable cockiness had not yet fully returned.

"Well, milord," Hikaru blundered. "You're one to talk about accosting people."

Tamaki paled.

"What?"

"You know," Kaoru said, sidling up to Tamaki and elbowing him in the ribs, warming to the subject matter. "Milord, don't try to pretend you haven't—" He let his sentence trail off, smiling slyly as the conversation slipped back into his awfully capable hands.

"Haven't _what_?" Tamaki asked shrilly, glancing at Haruhi, who stared blankly back, deeming it safe to sit in an upright position.

"Accosted, idiot. Or don't you want us to talk about it in front of Haruhi?"

"This is not an appropriate conversation for family members to participate in!" Tamaki tried to save.

"Oh, I'm sure Haruhi doesn't mind. She's a big girl, right, Haruhi?" Hikaru winked at her, and Haruhi merely gazed back at him with the nonplussed expression she wore whenever someone hinted at romance with the Host Club.

"You know, milord," Kaoru said, draping one arm over Tamaki's shoulder and letting Hikaru claim the other, their forearms overlapping. "I've never shared a kiss outside of the family. I'm _chaste_, so to speak."

"_You_, on the other hand . . ."

"She was French!" Kaoru explained to Haruhi with a flourish and what was, admittedly, a good impression of Tamaki's most flowery speeches. "She was beautiful, with her hair glinting," he paused dramatically, hand over his heart. "Scarlet-white in the moonlight. Her name was . . . _Jacqueline_."

"How do you remember this?!" Tamaki demanded, his face bright red. "It was last year!"

"We were staying in the same hotel in London. We couldn't help it." Kaoru and Hikaru's voices, speaking as one (by far the longest and most impressive two-for-one exhibit Haruhi had ever seen), lowered conspiratorially. "_Things_ happened. When I woke up . . ." Haruhi suddenly grasped what they were hinting at and turned her face away, a slight red tinge staining her cheeks. "She was gone forever, back to France, the land I can never revisit."

"And so he loses Jacqueline, his _first_," Hikaru concluded singularly.

"I told you not to tell the twins," Kyoya counciled from his place by the doorway (how long had he been there?). "I told you it would work to a bad end. I told you that they would tell someone and your father would find out."

"Father already asks me regularly if I'm 'active'," Tamaki muttered, glaring at the twins. "And I'm _not_."

"Not anymore, anyway," Kaoru smirked, and, the blame shifted painlessly from him, skipped out the doorway, shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother.

Kyoya stepped out of the room, scribbling furiously on the omnipresent notepad, which left the embarrassed-for-Tamaki Haruhi and the simply embarrassed Tamaki standing or lying, accordingly, in the small room. Neither of them said anything, Tamaki regarding his feet, feeling like he should apologize, and Haruhi just wishing he would leave so she could forget this whole episode.

Haruhi could hear Hunny and Mori speaking quietly two rooms to the left, the formers' voice slightly worried, the second soft, reassuring.

"Maybe you should go to bed, Tamaki," Haruhi said abruptly.

"Oh, right. Yeah," her elder said, blushing again. He turned around and started for the door before pausing slightly. "Haruhi?"

"Yes, senpai?" she asked, fluffing her pillow.

"Don't sleep on your back."

"What—? Oh, I'm sorry!" she said, realizing what was implicated. "I must've turned over in my sleep, I don't usually—"

"Don't worry about it, Haruhi," Tamaki said, stopping by her door and running his fingers over the latch of her door. "And, just one last thing?"

"Yes?"

"Maybe we should get you a lock."

And with that, he slunk out of the room.

**Just so you know, that was NOT HaruxHunny up there. That was Haruhi feeling affectionate towards Hunny like he was her own little brother, which is just how it is in this fic.**

**And due to popular requests, this fic is now OFFICIALLY HARUxMORI! Whoop! Now, don't be scared, there will still be a bit of HaruxHostClub, because I can't just leave them in the dust, but Mori's part shall grow!**

**This means you need to review. I love and adore you for putting me on your author alert, but there's no substance. Tell me why you worship the ground I walk upon. Just kidding.**

**ALSO (wow, this is getting to be long), I draw inspiration and banish my lethargy and writers block with good Ouran AMV's. Got a good one? PM me with the link, I'll be sure to check it out.**

**LoveLoveLOVE,**

**Vacancy**


	5. Waking the Shadow King

A/N: **Chapter five, fresh out of the oven. I have a simply FABULOUS idea for the last chapter and epilogue—but you have at least three more chapters of this story that matter, five if you don't mind a few that are pure fluff. Do you mind? Let me know—BY REVIEWING. Many thanks to those who have already left their comments—be sure to tell me what you've been thinking on these new chapters! This is my first Ouran fic so I want to know what I'm botching!**

**Haruhi gets a little OOC in this chapter, but nothing at all would happen if she just stayed her usual, oblivious self. So pardon a little shameless character-morphing, won't you darlings?**

Chapter Five

_As She Wakes the Shadow King_

_Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

"And the Host Club couldn't pick a normal alarm clock becauuussee . . .?"

_Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!_

"They enjoy seeing me suffer. Right. Got it."

Haruhi hauled herself out of bed, her eyes misty with sleep, and stumbled about the room in search of the alarm clock, hitting a wall twice and reacquainting herself with various pieces of furniture at least a dozen more. Instead of switching on to loud, obnoxious radio or giving out bleeps, it was one of those record-your-own alarm clocks, and it currently featured the twins screaming joyously into the recorder. Time . . . after time . . . after . . .

When she located the alarm clock; bolted to the temporary wall, she found there was no snooze button. There was no resetting the noise. Just 'Off'. The Host Club had, once again, chased her into a corner she couldn't scurry out of without breaking an expensive-looking piece of machinery which she knew Kyoya would charge her for. With a black pit in her eyes, she slammed the off button and went searching for suitable wear.

She found a t-shirt that the twins had bought her while they were shopping and some of those black cargo pants that Tamaki sometimes wore, and deemed them passable. She was almost tempted into wearing something lighter in lieu of the steamy weather, like a tank-top, but the straps from her sports bra would most probably give her away.

"Haruhi? Haruhi, are you ready?"

"And this is how it will be for the rest of the trip," she grumbled, opening the door with a jerk. Tamaki fell forward, having been pressing his ear to her door for quite a while; but for once she wasn't the one being straddled on the floor, as she'd learned her lesson and jumped to the side.

"Good morning, senpai," she said brightly.

"Haruhi. . . . I just . . . isn't his nice carpet? I picked it out myself! Very nice and . . . plush-y."

"It's very nice," Haruhi agreed. "It's good that you're appreciating it."

Tamaki seemed to be the only one apart from herself who was up and about, Kyoya was predictably not troubled by the clamorous noise of her alarm clock from Satan, leaving the twins, Mori and Hunny to prepare themselves for a day of permanent hosting behind closed doors.

"I got you that lock," he remarked, getting to his feet, and once again poking at the small metal tongue that was the latch of her door. "I'll have it installed while we're out Hosting."

"What are we doing today?" Haruhi asked dubiously, stepping out of her room past him, her body just barely brushing his, making him blush a bit.

"Well, Kyoya arranged for dinner at a fine restaurant, but this morning and afternoon we're going to a theme park!" His pinkened face took on a look more of enthusiasm than of embarrassment as he spoke excitedly—but softly—of theme parks.

"What theme park?" she asked blankly. She didn't know there were any theme parks nearby that Tamaki would waste his time with.

"Disneyland!"

"Disney . . . land? Thats in Florida, in the US, Tamaki."

"The US!" he squealed. "Yes! We're taking a boat up to Florida then driving to Disneyland!"

" . . . rich . . . b," Haruhi huffed, and Tamaki, only too aware of the word that would follow, chimed in with a cheery

"_Benefactors_! Think of all the things you would never experience if you hadn't smashed that vase! Ootoro, for instance!"

"I would've gotten some eventually," Haruhi grumbled, knowing it was a lie.

"What about Disneyland? The original? The one-and-only?"

"I'd do fine without."

Neither of them said anything for a second, and Tamaki was scowling as he looked right into her big black heartbreaking eyes.

"Well, you don't regret it, do you?"

"What?"

"Smashing that vase? You don't, right?"

"You think I enjoy being the Host Clubs' dog? No, Tamaki, if I had had a choice I would've never smashed that vase."

His face fell, but he didn't retreat comically into his corner, nor did bars of depression fall from the sky over his head, but he looked at her hard, trying to decipher her frank, innocent expression.

" . . . You don't like the Host Club?"

"Of course I do," she said, walking away from him, nudging some escapee pillows into the pit. "But I don't like the circumstances. If in some odd, strange way I'd been inducted into the Club of my own volition . . . ah, it doesn't matter."

"It does matter!" Tamaki said, his face lighting, tackling her from behind with a large, cheesy smile and making her fall into the pillow pit with him clinging onto her like some great over sized backpack. Hikaru and Kaoru came out of their room simultaneously, glanced at Tamaki holding Haruhi, looked at each other, and declared as one

"Rape."

They linked their arms and left the auxiliary dining room together, leaving Haruhi to disentangle herself with the once-again-pinkened Tamaki.

"You make a lot of noise," Hunny twittered, smiling, as he stepped out from his room with Mori behind him—Haruhi felt a pang of sympathy for the great silent boy, and how it was his duty to waken early and face the gnashing teeth and glaring eyes that was his low-blood-pressured ward. "You should get to breakfast, they started serving ten minutes ago."

"I'll go wake Kyoya, then," Haruhi said, taking the large step out of Pillow Pit and straightening her clothes. She caught the incredulous gazes of the Host Club members. "What?"

"Have we not told you?" Tamaki worried. "Of how the Demon Lord merited his name?"

"What, by being cold and calculating?" she scoffed and headed towards his door.

"No! Haru-chan, you mustn't!" Hunny wailed, flinging himself at her and holding her back with his immensely strong little arms. "He'll eat you!"

"He'll 'eat me'?" Haruhi said blankly. "Come on, you know Kyoya wouldn't be happy to miss breakfast."

"He would," muttered Tamaki, staring wide-eyed at Haruhi.

"It's not advisable to disturb Kyoya at such an early hour," Mori said softly.

"Oh, come on. He makes it to school each day, doesn't he?" she freed herself from Hunny's grip. "You're all being silly."

She rapped smartly on his door, which was left slightly ajar in an ominous sort of way: an aura of come-forth-and-die seemed to radiate from the dark sliver. "Kyoya?" she spoke into the black, not noticing how the Club members were staring at her back with fixed expressions of horror on their faces, frozen in place. The door swung open at her touch and she stepped into the room, letting her eyes adjust to the semi darkness. "They're serving breakfast."

Kyoya remained a still lump in the bed.

"Come on, Kyoya. Early to . . . bed . . . early to . . ." she trailed off, realizing the ridiculousness of this statement and how it affected the workaholic Kyoya. She padded over to his bed—he kept his room spotlessly clean, unsurprisingly, and she was hardly worried he'd turn over and she'd find he slept naked—this was Kyoya, after all. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder over the coverlet and shook gently. Tamaki and Hunny were peering, eyes full of fear, from the threshold, and Mori was ready to intervene should Kyoya make to harm her in any way, emotionally or physically.

He stirred minutely. Haruhi smiled in vague relief. Kyoya's dark hair, the only part of him visible underneath the blanket he was still under even though it had to be eighty degrees in the room with air conditioning, slithered about a little as he turned his head slightly.

"Haruhi," he said, his voice black. His eyes narrowed and he struggled into a sitting position. Haruhi looked at him flatly, undaunted. "It's nine in the morning, Haruhi."

"It is," she said. "Time to get up."

"Not for normal people," he said, and she frowned.

"Yes for normal people. Especially on vacation. Sleeping doesn't accomplish anything. It's better to use the mornings when you're fresh and new and not sleepy."

He stared at her for a second, his aura going from nightshade to black.

"I didn't get to sleep until five AM, Haruhi. I'm in no mood to play around."

"Yeah, well I didn't get to sleep until four," she said tritely. "And I'm just fine."

They were both silent. Tamaki let out a squeak of half-torn joy and fear for Haruhi at maybe besting the Demon Lord at the game he always won at.

"Now come on," she said, pulling back the sheets. As she remembered, he slept bare-chested, but that didn't bother her. They were at a beach, only-pants attire was becoming frighteningly nondescript.

"You give those back," he hissed, lunging for them, but she pulled them away sharply, rolling them up in her arms, not bothering to fold them as the maids would come to change the sheets soon anyway.

"Come on, Kyoya. It's too late to be asleep."

She pulled at his arm, and he was surprisingly light, disproportional to his tall, muscular figure, like he was hollow-boned, like a bird. At her insistence, he heaved himself out of bed, and immediately stumbled, causing Haruhi to take a few steps back and find the wall behind her, and for him to place either one of his arms on either side of her head, his face angry, conflicted, and somehow still misty from sleep in a childlike way.

"Why am I always the one being pinned to the wall?" she complained. "Can't you guys find some other girl to terrorize?"

"You don't know terror, Haruhi," Kyoya muttered, leaning his head forward so they were nose-to-nose. Haruhi scowled at him, and Tamaki took up making scared noises again. "You don't know how it is to constantly make calls for them, buy them things, convince these people to pay disproportionate amounts of money for a few pictures, or a shirt, just so that Tamaki can have his latest costume. To stay up late, accounting, reporting, doing work most adults struggle with. At _night_, Haruhi, because I have no other time, because I'm busy chaperoning _them_ all day."

"Yes, well it's not exactly easy to be your dog, either," Haruhi said, ducking under his arm. "Now you should probably find a shirt—oof!"

He had lowered his arm so it fell around her stomach, pulling her backwards so her back was against his midsection.

"Haruhi," he whispered menacingly. "You are never to wake me this early again, or I shall have you killed."

She looked up at him, not alarmed. "You wouldn't."

"Don't think I don't have the means."

"I didn't say you couldn't. Just wouldn't. After a while, you'll get used to waking up early. You've been pampered in this, Kyoya. Deal with it." She felt his arm relax in slight shock, and she slipped away. "I suggest chocolate-covered espresso beans. Now get dressed, it's time for breakfast."

At the look on his face, she couldn't help but laugh, giggling slightly as she swept through the door, unconscious as always of the pairs of admiring eyes that followed her.

**-x-**

It took a bit of threatening and quite a lot of sarcasm and irritating, Haruhi-like behavior to get Kyoya to walk down to the main dining room, scowling fiercely in his button-down shirt and jean 'cutoffs' masterfully created to look carelessly expensive. When he entered the dining room, however, something happened. His back straightened, he donned, while not a friendly expression, a vaguely open one, and his eyes flickered sleep-blank behind his glasses but not murderous.

"Kyoya!" his client chirped from her seat. "I didn't expect to see you this early!"

The twins both turned and stared, open-mouthed, at Haruhi, who was walking into the Dining Room with Kyoya . . . before eleven o'clock. On a vacation day. He'd been asleep not a half an hour earlier.

"Haru-chan woke the Demon Lord!" Hunny crowed, and Tamaki nodded vigorously beside him. The twins pushed out from the table and, leaving slightly miffed clients behind them, came up to Haruhi.

"Can we shake your hand? Will your intense bravery perhaps transmit?" Kaoru asked, pumping Haruhi's hand enthusiastically, and Kyoya, seemingly unfazed, went to sit next to his happy client.

"So will her foolishness," Hikaru added, shaking her other hand.

"You two have enough foolishness for an army," Haruhi retorted, struggling to get away. Hikaru and Kaoru, seemingly hurt by this comment, released her and slunk back to the table.

"Haruhi!" Renge chirped, flagging her down from her place at the table. "Come sit here!"

"Right," Haruhi said, and sat down. "Did you sleep well, Renge? How was the spa day?"

"Fine," she said slyly. "But who was that girl, Haruhi?"

Haruhi put another croissant onto her plate, unaware of the fact that Tamaki was staring at her.

"Girl?"

"Yes. She looked a lot like you, Haruhi."

"Oh, that was my cousin." The lie came out slightly robotic and obvious, but she had practiced it so many times, anticipating this question being asked at some point, it sounded almost believable. "She came down that day to spend time with the Host Club, but I was busy back here. How did you see her?"

"I came back early," Renge said innocently, taking a dainty bite of toast. "And I saw all of you down at the beach. What were you doing back here, Haruhi? I didn't see you."

"I was . . .ehhh . . ." Haruhi fumbled with the words, trying to find a way to lie convincingly.  
"She was showing the chefs some of her mothers' recipes," Tamaki jumped in. "She likes to have them often or she feels homesick."

"Haruhi gets homesick?" Renge cooed. "Thats so . . . moe!" She squealed. "That will make a good part of your character depth!"

"Character depth?" Haruhi asked blankly.

"Yes!" Renge said, taking to the subject already. "You are the most touching, real Host! Tamaki is beautiful, Hunny is adorable, Mori is silent and soft and the twins are devils, but you have depth. Your mother is dead. You're homesick. You're a commoner. You have to do your own laundry."

"So that makes me deep?" she asked, slightly confused. "Lots of people have lost their mothers and do laundry. It's not odd."

"It is at Ouran," she said brightly. "We'll have to market this. As your manager, I suggest you stress your commoner status to your clients in the future and make sure to talk about your homesickness. Oh, and that you drool in your sleep."

Haruhi's hand flew to her mouth, a little embarrassed but mostly alarmed at how Renge knew this.

"How did you know that?"

"You drool in your sleep?" Tamaki asked, interested, adding another tally to the chart labeled 'Haruhi's Flaws' in his mind, making her even worthier of heroine status.

"Only slightly," she said, frowning.

"I have my sources. Oh—Haruhi! Will you ride the roller coasters with me at Disneyland?" she asked, her face bright.

"I'm not very fond of rickety roller coasters," Haruhi said doubtfully. "Or being upside-down. So nothing too crazy, okay?"

Tamaki and the twins were both mentally making note of this.

"Oh, no, me either," Renge lied skillfully. "But I hear Epcott is quite beautiful."

"I'd like to see Cinderella's castle," Haruhi said dreamily. "I hear the princess suite inside is very beautiful."

"Oh, Haruhi, do you ever dream of being a Prince?" Renge asked, melting at the sensitivity in her eyes.

"Why should I dream?" she asked. "If you all are princesses that come to the Host Club, then what are the members but your faithful princes?"

Every girl in the room melted to goo.

Haruhi congratulated herself.

Kyoya made a note.

**-x-**

"The fireworks are so beautiful, Haruhi," Renge said, leaning her head on Haruhi's shoulder. "Dancing in the sky like that."

"They are," Haruhi said, admiring the multicolored bursts of light exploding above the blue turrets of Cinderella castle. Kyoya had made a phone call, and a special fireworks display marked the close of their day at Disneyland (the planned dinner, apparently, had been at a five-star restaurant just outside of the theme-parks territory). Haruhi's feet ached. She had eaten more overpriced food served at kiosks than she should have. She drank too much soda. She felt nauseous from the sheer number of roller coasters she'd been put on against her will. But somehow, all of this collectively had not aggravated her or made her eager to slaughter a Host Club member. It made her relaxed, happy, content just for once to sit and watch the fireworks.

"We're so lucky to have the opportunities that we do," Renge said, and Haruhi looked at her, mildly confused. "Haruhi, _you_ of all people know what I mean. Coming here, eating good food, flying out to Barbados . . . we're so lucky."

Haruhi stared at Renge a second, then smiled softly.

"You're the first person at Ouran who knows what I mean when I say that," she said, smiling, making all the Host Club members, who were subtly observing, grow faint in the heart (none of them had enough conscience to feel bad about abusing their status). And at her tone, Renge turned pink, something she never did, and she tilted her head slightly, like she expected Haruhi to kiss her, and Haruhi did what only Haruhi would do in this situation—she turned away, completely unaware of what she had done to Renge.

**-x-**

Haruhi lay completely still, contemplating getting up, fetching her homework, and settling into one of the overstuffed chairs to complete part of it. But she could hear the insistent tapping of Kyoya's laptop, and the last few times they'd been alone—forget that, alone _ever_, nothing but trouble had followed. And the chandelier that lit each open-roofed partition nicely had long ago been switched off by it's timers, leaving her in darkness.

From the twins room words in whispers. Tamaki murmured conflictingly in his sleep. Kyoya still typing. Hunny was trying to hum himself to sleep—but nothing came from Mori's room to the direct right.

And for some reason, his silence was deafening.

**-x-**

Haruhi felt snakes writhing on her stomach, twisting her hair, slithering over her nose and lips, tiny ones laying their little bellies on her eyelids—

And she woke with a start.

She didn't feel the safe, sleepy warm of just-waking-up, her skin felt itchy, too tight, and she fidgeted in her bed and felt—an arm.

She tried to scream hysterically, but the sound died in her throat. She'd been having this nightmare since her mother died, that she would wake and find her mothers dead body next to her, sleeping next to her like she had so many times when her father wasn't home and she was lonely, only she would never wake.

A hand flew over her mouth.

"Hush, Haruhi, you'll wake the Demon Lord!"

"Kaoru—?" she gasped, not able to do much more than guess in the dark, though the blatant embarrassment on his face made her think—Kaoru.

"What the hell are you doing in my bed?!" she hissed, and Kaoru glanced around, looking trapped.

"Get under the blanket," he ordered, and she blanched.

"I'm sorry?" she whispered, but Kaoru had already flung the fluffy blanket over their heads from where it Haruhi had folded it at the foot of the bed in favor of lighter sheets.

"Kaoru, _why_—" she started scooting towards the edge of the blanket. Kaoru reached over and his arm snaked around her waist, kept her where she was.

"Hush, Haruhi, you'll wake everyone up! The blanket absorbs some of the sound, see?" he whispered with a look of supplication, and Haruhi eyed him warily, accepting the explanation for this part of the oddness. She commenced replying, considerately in a whisper.

"Fair enough. But why are you in here?"

"Hikaru—well, we had a fight. I'm in the dog house, so to speak. Please, Haruhi? No one else will take me in."

"Are you sure Mori wouldn't?"

"No. Do you think I want to wake him?"

"Fine. Sleep on the floor. You can make a bed with the pillows and the blanker."

"The floor?" he asked, disbelieving.

"Yes, the floor. The carpets' thick enough, you'll live."

He gave her a deadpan look of 'like hell I will,' snatched one of the thousand-thread-count sheets and cuddled into it, eying her suspiciously.

"Can't you sleep in the common area?" she whispered indignantly, tucking th blanket around his head to minimize sound leakage and making a tent with her fingertips. The air under the blanket was hard to breathe, thick, difficult.

"They'd graffiti me."

"Then I'll go out there," Haruhi said with decision, making to climb out of the large bed.

"Haruhi!" he yelped, grabbing her hand and yanking her back, having her slide over the sheets on her stomach like some large, glaring penguin.

"_Yes_?" she deadpanned, levering herself up onto her elbow and not paying attention to their close proximity, nor the fact that her lips were a few odd inches from his own, something he was noticing much more than he should, making his resolve begin to fray.

"Don't leave."

"What?"

"I can't sleep alone. I—I never have before."

"You what?"

"Hikaru and I always—"

"Do I look like Hikaru to you?"

"Please, Haruhi?"

"No. I'm tired and I want to go to sleep."

He pointed at the surface. "Bed. Used for sleeping."

"Not with you in it," she retorted. "Now let go of me or go away."

Pain flitted across his features, along with plain disappointment. He could barely see her face. Was she angry? Joking? Pissed off? He leaned forward, trying to see in the darkness, and she moved away, but her head found the pillow, minimizing shrinking room. He felt his cheeks grow warm. He'd just meant to try to see her expression—and now he could feel the gentle torrents of breath on his cheek, and how she looked upset, just vaguely, and slightly worried. And it made his goals switch places.

"Haruhi," he whispered, propping himself up on with his arm and staring down at Haruhi, who looked back with wide, chocolate, irritated eyes, and all he could think was 'Screw Hikaru, she's mine now.'

And he hated himself for it.

"Yes, Kaoru?" she asked, recalling Kyoya's words the night before and shivering, grasping what was happening with logic in a way that she could never do with her handicapped heart.

"I—"

The sentence need not have been finished, nor even began. She knew what he was going to do, and he knew that he needed her, not Hikaru.

"Please," she pleaded, her voice losing control and rising up from a whisper to a normal tone. "You don't—not really—" Fear pounded in her throat—he was going to make the clock chime midnight, and the carriage turn into a pumpkin, just with a kiss, just because she had fooled him unwittingly with her friendship.

The door opened.

Mori stood in the threshold of her room, wariness writ on his face, watching the two of them with apprehensive eyes.

"Kaoru," he greeted. "Haruhi. You are making quite a lot of noise, Kaoru. And it doesn't seem to me that she welcomes your company."

Kaoru rolled away from Haruhi, whose every orifice exploded in relief, his face torn.

"Mori," Haruhi said, sitting up, trying to undo what had just happened. "Kaoru needs a place to sleep without being graffiti'd and he came to me."

"He's free to sleep in my room," Mori said. "I'll sleep in the common area. No one will graffiti me."

"Thank you, Mori, thats very kind of you," Haruhi said, not meeting his eyes. Kaoru was standing next to the bed now, and Haruhi could see that he was only wearing boxers, which made her feel more than a little awkward. Mori nodded, glancing out the door.

"Just take the bed. I didn't go to sleep yet, so nothing is displaced."

Haruhi liked that about Mori. He didn't ask questions he didn't need answers to. He just got to the point. He knew what he had to, and that was that.

"Here," Haruhi whispered as Kaoru left the room, gathering up a few of the blankets and sheets. "Let me help you set up a bed."

"Thank you," he said quietly, following her out of the room. He watched her impassively as she collected a few of the larger pillows from the flurry and lined them up, tucking them together with a white sheet and a making the bed with sheets and the blanket purely out of habit.

"Thats good, I think," she said, standing up and blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

"Thats wonderful. Thank you, Haruhi," he said, bowing his head. "But . . . that was the second time Kaoru was in your room, Haruhi."

She turned her head away, not replying.

"Just so I can know the proper action to take in the future . . . is he welcome there?"

"No."

They were both silent, Haruhi wondering if it was seen as telling if she chose this moment to flee.

"Do you want one of my pillows? All of these patterned ones might leave marks on your face . . ."

"No, it's fine. If it's a problem, I'll get one from my own room. But thank you."

"All right, then," she said, glancing up at the hints of dawn light outside. She wasn't sure she could get to sleep after that—and poor Mori, just getting to bed now. She retreated to her room, out of sight, leaving him thinking about how much he wanted that Haruhi-scented pillow.

**-x-**

**I had to re-write that last bit so many times . . . and it just wouldn't come out right. I know it seems like I'm doing to much HaruxHostClub for this to be strictly Mori, but I just don't want him to jump right in with love sonnets and poetry, you know? I hope you understand. **

**Give me some ideas for activities for the Host Club to indulge in, 'kay? I'm kind of running to the end of my original ideas for this particular story, and any ideas at all would be greatly appreciated—mostly all I need is a prompt and I'm up and running again.**

**Tell me tell me, I wanna knooowww!**

**-Vacancy**


	6. She Is a Girl

A/N: **Ohmygoodness, so much business! I'm going to be caught up in Birthday-Season for the next weekend or so, and it might be a while before I manage to write up another chapter. I think that scuba diving will be in the Host Club's future, tho, and it'll be fun too ) **

**Anyway, here's a fun chapter for you to remember me in my absence with. I tried out a different Point Of View, and I want you to tell me if you like it, okay? I want to know if I should include some more in the future. I was thinking of doing a Tamaki one soon, and definitely more Mori. Thanks! Read on, my fans!**

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club in any way shape or form.

Chapter Six

_She Is a Girl_

He feels it is his place to watch, and listen, and know all, without saying a word.

He feels safe when he's silent. When he doesn't speak, no one can contradict him, and he cannot be told that he is wrong. That is his only fear: to be so wrong that he can never be corrected, and his failure will hurt the people he cares for.

But he sometimes feels like _she_'s watching him, wanting him to say something. Which is ridiculous. Why would she care about what he says or doesn't say? If anything, he is the father and Tamaki the rogue son, and it is for him to take care of the Host Club, not enjoy it. Sometimes he lets himself pretend, play out in his mind what will never become real in words. Sometimes he lets himself think that he has a chance over beautiful Tamaki and complex, interesting twins. Sometimes he lets himself become, not a servant, not a father, but an equal, one that she can talk to, laugh with.

But that is the role of a servant, even long after the times when the Morinozuka family served the Haninozuka. The role of a servant is to be silent, watching, listening, knowing all and seeing all, without saying a word.

**-x-**

Haruhi should have known better than to agree to take the Host Club to a superstore.

Not only had they wreaked havoc with everything from Tupperware to Hershey's bars, they had bought out nearly the entire store with awed clients in tow, flirted shamelessly with the clerks and any girl who had the misfortune to wander into the store, caused nothing short of a riot when Kaoru and Hikaru decided that a Brotherly Love show was needed during the time in the checkout line to up the tension, and made the veins in Haruhi's head prematurely throb (she swore she felt an ulcer forming, damn them).

Tamaki inspected the top of the box he had in his lap, sitting in the lavish parlor where all the clients and Hosts were gathered, drinking fancy teas and flirting and laughing idly, dazed and riding out the last dredges of commoner-experience excitement, as they had just returned to Suou Vacation Home Three and gathered after having a few minutes alotted by Kyoya for freshening up, or as Haruhi put it, 'recuperating'.

"Plan-a-fah-muh-lee game night," he said, his English jerky and slow. Haruhi had the feeling that this was just for show or his own internal amusement, as no one but she was watching, for he flipped the box over and scanned the paragraph quickly, nodding.

"Haruhi."

"Huh?" she asked, jerked out of a dreamy, exhausted reverie by the tentative voice of Renge. "Oh, I'm sorry, Renge. I was distracted."

"It's all right," she said, smiling and sipping her cup of what seemed to be brown tea. It moved sluggishly and she sipped it in a hardly delicate way, and Haruhi couldn't help but be repulsed by what might lay in the porcelain.

"Renge, I hope you don't mind me asking, but what it is that you are drinking, exactly?"

"Melted chocolate," she said tritely. "Drink it while it's hot or you'll have to chew it."

"You're drinking chocolate?" she asked, fairly disbelieving. She nodded.

"It's delicious. A special treat to myself that I have only occasionally. Would you like to taste?"

"May I?" Haruhi asked, and Renge nodded, raising her cup. Haruhi remembered the incredulous looks of the wealthy parents at the Ouran Student Festival when she offered food to Tamaki, but clearly Renge didn't care, her eyes shining with hope, which, of course, Haruhi mistook as the light reflecting oddly on her retinas, lending her a vaguely manic look.

Haruhi leaned tentatively forward and accepted the cup from Renge, closing the small space between them on the richly brocaded love seat, but quickly opening it again as she leaned back and took a small sip of the heavy substance in the cup. It was rich and good chocolate, and it tasted thick and warm on her tongue. She handed the cup back and savored the taste a moment before swallowing, and finding that remnants of the liquid resided in all the little corners of her mouth.

"I'm sure this isn't healthy," she managed thickly, and Renge merely smiled beatifically and reclaimed her cup.

"All right!"

Haruhi, now accustomed to often outbursts of plots and plans, turned her head towards an easily excited blond brandishing a box and holding many more flattish boxes in his other arm with no surprise but too much dread.

"We shall plan a family game night!"

"Senpai—" Haruhi began, trying to becalm him, like he did something drastic like make them play hours of board games while snuggled into a kotatsu at gunpoint—or maybe she was letting her imagination get away with her.

"No! Haruhi, you must listen to Papa! These games 'Make the family into a whole!' he read off the back of the box, nodding enthusiastically. "Don't you want to be _whole_, Haruhi?"

"You're a few pieces short of a whole," she muttered. "And do any of the clients want to play?" she asked, her eyes sliding to Kyoya, who had paused slightly in his frantic typing.

"I would," Renge piped up, and several of the other clients nodded vigorously. Kyoya returned to typing, satisfied, and Tamaki, with a victorious cry, began laying out their different game selections.

"_Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, Candyland, Scrabble_," he pronounced. "_Clue_, puzzles, backgammon."

"Lets play _Clue_," Haruhi elected, rising from her position on the elevated seat and sitting on the floor at the opposite side of the glass-topped table. Tamaki looked like he was about to cry with happiness, at least until Haruhi glared at him solidly and struck up conversation with Renge, who was sitting on her other side now, all too eager to play Clue.

Tamaki explained the game with relish when all the Club members and their clients had sat down, and between the puzzled questions of the clients and the enthusiastic clarifications of Tamaki, they finally managed to start the game. As there were only six pieces, Tamaki, Hikaru, Haruhi, Kyoya Renge and Kaoru's client elected to play.

Tamaki and the twins took to cheering obnoxiously whenever someone rolled a six, and noisily intaking breaths when someone was accused. Haruhi laughed along with everyone else, though her foot rammed into Tamaki's shin when he began to cry as she accused Colonel Mustard in the ballroom with the rope (he had snatched up the yellow piece), which only served to make him wail louder with cries of 'My daughter hates me! My daughter wants to imprison me!'

"Professor Plum, your turn," Renge teased, and Haruhi smiled at her, rolling the die.

"Six," she pronounced, and as she moved her plum piece towards the conservatory noisy cheers abounded. "Hummm. Let's see. Miss Peacock. In the Conservatory. With the . . . the wrench."

"I can prove you wrong," Hikaru said, sliding a card over to her. She picked it up. Wrench. She crossed it off her list and handed it back to him.

There was a round of lazy conversation as Renge dithered over where to send her piece, Miss Scarlett.

"Can you believe it's been a week already?" Tamaki asked, stretching his arms.

"It feels like much longer," Haruhi said, resting her chin on her hand and smiling. "I'm really enjoying this vacation, contrary to prior beach excursions." Tamaki fairly glowed.

"I'm glad, Haruhi," Hunny piped up from where he sat with Mori just behind her.

"We should hold a special dinner or something on the last night," Tamaki said, his face pensive.

"Ballroom," Renge decided, sending Miss Scarlett to the ballroom, but interest in the game had dwindled.

"We _could_ use the ballroom," the blond said pensively, misinterpreting her announcement. "We could invite some friends from Ouran to come over for an overnight."

"That would be fun," Renge said, forgetting the game finally. "Your ballroom is beautiful, Tamaki."

"Thank you, Renge," he said distractedly, his eyes on Haruhi with an expression seeking confirmation that she would enjoy this particular event.

"I still haven't had ootoro," was her only reply.

Truth be told, she didn't crave or want ootoro that badly. She had mentioned it merely after hearing her father dreamily rattle off the fine foods his friends had had at their wedding. He'd raved about ootoro, and a she'd possessed a vague interest in it ever since. The Host Club had blown it out of proportion, and she had learned long ago it was far from wise to contradict them.

"We'll have a dance and fine dinner," Tamaki announced. "On Friday night. We're packing up on Saturday morning, right, Kyoya?"

"Eight to ten is time for goodbyes to the scenery and having your luggage packed, yes," he replied, moving his piece into the kitchen.

"But . . ." Haruhi's forehead creased. "It's Wednesday. Thats less than a week left."

"We arrived last Monday," Kaoru said. "It's been a little over a week."

"Oh," she said. "Then I was right when I said that it's been more than a week." She moved her piece. "I am going to make an accusation."

"Ooooh!" the twins chorused.

"Miss Peacock, in the Library—l."

"Haruhi."

She felt his breath on her neck, and it felt like where it hit there spread a pink blush, making the back of her neck a dark, stained red. He was so close she could feel his body heat. The twins and Tamaki hugged her regularly, tucked her into them, but those were silly little gestures, meant to convey more companionship than anything else. They could be brimful of meaning, but to her they were empty. And in this one, not nearly as meaningful gesture she read so much more into it—because he never spoke, much less touched her or even came near her.

"You crossed off Miss Peacock, remember?" he asked, so quietly that no one else heard. This time she could feel the breath that made the words on her ear, and they, too, flushed pink. "Only on the other side."

She turned it over and found, to her bemusement, he was right. It was Miss Scarlett, not Miss Peacock.

"You're right, Mori," she said, her voice equally soft. "I did."

She could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her, Tamaki's scathing, the twins', unreadable, Kyoya's hidden by glasses, Hunny's large and confused eyes boring into her back.

"It's Miss Scarlet in the library with the revolver," she said quickly, her voice little more than flustered, embarrassed breath. Renge pulled the cards out of the envelope and declared her right—the tension in the room lifted, everyone congratulated her. Which left her distracted mind to wonder—how had he known which side she had crossed Miss Peacock off on?

**-x-**

Haruhi Fujioka might not look it, act it, care about it, or acknowledge it in any way, but she was a girl.

She was a girl constantly surrounded by men, most of whom cared deeply for her, and as Kyoya had said—this could easily be confused for love. And despite everything, her not caring, her disregard at the rather obvious romantic advances she was given, she had to confess that somewhere along the line, she'd had odd daydreams.

Things like her and Tamaki being married, catching herself doodling one of the Host Club members names on a sheet of paper when she was thinking of them, dreams about being kissed by a nameless face.

When the twins hug her, when Tamaki cradles and coddles her to him, her face gets red, not only because of embarrassment, but also because of their close proximity. She's not completely ignorant—it's easier in her situation to pretend that none of it fazes her. Mostly it doesn't. Sometimes it does.

She had read the romance novels in middle school before declaring them utterly silly and a complete waste of her valuable studying time, she sometimes watched a soap opera, at her fathers' urges, and she found the scenes in which dramatic kissing took place somewhere between revolting and slightly appealing.

Yes, Fujioka Haruhi will never admit it, but she is a girl, and sometimes she thinks of kissing.

**-x-**

"Tamaki?"

Her knuckles lay on his door, peering curiously into his room, her mouth still half-open with the sound of his name, whispered. The twins were off Hosting, Mori and Hunny off eating cake and supervising, respectively, and Kyoya was at the office of Suou Vacation Home Three trading stocks or taking over the world or whatever he did on that ominous silver computer. The auxiliary dining room was very nearly empty.

He looked up, and his cheeks pinkened, delighted that for once, she has approached him, with that curious, _adorable _look on her face.

"Yes, Haruhi?" he asked, beckoning her in.

"I had a few requests for the last day dinner/dance thing," she said carefully, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. It somewhere between messy and clean, every surface cluttered but organized.

"You can sit down," he said, standing up from where he had been sprawled on his bed, regarding her curiously. She dropped where she was like a puppet with it's strings cut, and he started, once again in awe of how she thought so little of simply sitting on the plush carpet—he could hear her reasoning if he should ask; 'It's comfortable enough, senpai, but if you prefer I could sit in a chair.'

"Well, I was going to ask if we could invite Casanova-kun," she said first, and he could hear his world crashing down around his ears. He recalled Kyoya's words: telling her that the redheaded boy was desperately in love with her. This hadn't changed her opinion of him. She wanted him around now. This couldn't mean . . .

"I felt that I should apologize somehow," she continued. "You senpais alerted me to the awful thing I'd done to him, the same way I did with Arai, and I feel like I should invite him over to make up for it . . . I don't know."

"The clients might be a little alarmed," Tamaki said, perking up. "They already think that he is trying to engage you romantically."

"He hasn't said anything to—" she began doubtfully, then smiled, curling herself into a ball, resting her chin on her kneecaps. "That's a little ridiculous."

"No it's not," Tamaki said fondly. "You're just overwhelmingly naïve."

Haruhi looked up at him sharply, and he felt his face grow warmer as she inspected him even more thoroughly. Even though her face was hardly half as easy to read as the heart that Tamaki kept prominently displayed on his sleeve, he could hear her thoughts clearly in her actions. 'I hope he doesn't like me too . . .'

"I'm only your father, Haruhi," he said disapprovingly. "Don't even think such things."

She laughed.

"Yeah," she said. "I guess I'm just a little paranoid lately."

His face was sad as he watched her, gladly believing his unskillful lies.

"Good night, senpai."

"Good night, Haruhi."

She climbed to her feet and smiled at him detachedly.

"Thank you for the lock. It's kept the twins out of my room twice. I caught them."

"Unscrupulous twins," he said complacently. "Sleep well."

"You too, Senpai," she said, smiling and exiting his room.

The click of the latch fell into dead silence.

**What did you think? Did you like it? I did. I typed this up in an hour, pressured with aforementioned business, but I'm fairly happy about how it came out. There's a bit of – I don't know what to call it, exactly – emotional sections? I hope you liked them – and if you don't Read and Review I might have to eat you. **

**Just kidding.**

**Much Love,**

**Vacancy**


	7. The Party I

A/N:** So, zomg. I've come to a conclusion. I'm poking an idea into this story that could make it longer by two-four chapters. Are you happy? Maybe? Possibly? Pacify me, people, I'm a crybaby. ;-;**

**And you know what, I don't remember who said it, but you're RIGHT. There really HAS been no story/plotline so far. It's been just one slow outpour of fluff, but ALL THAT is about to change. Bear with me. Forgive me, readers, for I have fallen into fluffiness.**

Disclaimer: _No, hun, I don't own OHSHC. :( Sorry._

Chapter Seven

_The Party—Partie Un_

The waves lapped gently at her feet, light foam frothing around her ankles and retreating into the sea. She loved the feeling of standing just beyond the surf. One second having your toes tickled by seawater, the next being overwhelmed up to your knees with the salty, sweet-smelling water. Her eyes were closed, her arms lightly hugging herself, hands on her shoulders, and everyone was pretending that they were not, but really were, staring at Haruhi with starry eyes. She was all in solitary that Tamaki was with company—a romance novel hero, emotional, sweet, silent.

"Haruhi, would you like a swim?"

"No thank you, Renge," she murmured, half-opening her eyes and smiling dreamily at Renge, who had approached her from behind, and now looked embarrassed. "I don't like to submerge myself in ocean water. It makes me feel so small and temporary."

A lie, though not a total one. She didn't enjoy swimming, and the ocean did make her feel achingly insignificant, but she didn't want to tempt fate and jump in in her t-shirt.

"Would you enjoy a walk through the surf then, Haruhi?" she asked softly, tilting her head and smiling. Somehow the ocean sunset made everyone somber and pensive, even Tamaki had stoppered his incessant chatter and was sitting on the beach, watching the ocean with a vague smile.

"I would, very much," she said, and the two turned and walked slowly through the sand and water, Haruhi letting her hands drop down to her sides. Renge, tentatively, let their hands brush a few times before she nervously slipped her hand between fingers and thumb of Haruhi's. Haruhi recoiled slightly, surprised, but didn't release her hand. The girls face heated with pleasure.

"I love the beach," Renge said after a moment of silence, and the Host Club was little more than so many flesh-toned ants wandering about the beach (By some miracle they weren't following her—perhaps they were kept in check by the clients).

"I do too. Does it bother you, though, sometimes, how endless it is? How long the beach and how infinite the ocean?"

"Do you ever feel that way about us?"

Haruhi stopped walking.

"I beg your pardon, Renge?"

"Us. Haruhi, I've told you how I feel. These two weeks have advanced us so far in this. Don't you see how perfect this is? This is love, Haruhi."

Haruhi felt her tongue stick in her mouth, and all she could do was stare, blank, horrified, as Renge continued to smile gently and speak.

"You're so kind. You're so gentle. You hurt yourself to protect me, and you never complain when you're told to do something. You're my saint, Haruhi. We're meant to be together."

"U-u-us?" Haruhi managed, blinking solidly, still not processing this correctly.

"I don't care if your a commoner. All my father wants is for me to live a full life, and be happy. Maybe someday we can be married. Can't you see what a beautiful picture that is, Haruhi? Us—married!"

"Married," she replied, dazed. "Renge . . . I . . ."

"Haruhi," she said gently, tipping her face up to Haruhi's and closing her eyes, smiling. This time, Haruhi grasped what Renge was asking for her to bestow—a kiss.

"Renge, that can't happen!" she blurted. Renge opened her eyes and blinked. "You're a very nice girl . . . and . . . I like you very much. However, I believe . . . that a romantic relationship will not work out between the two of us, due to . . . current circumstances."

To Haruhi's surprise, no tears gathered at the corners of Renge's eyes. She merely smiled, and hugged Haruhi tightly.

"I understand, my love. We cannot be together yet. We are too young, you are not prepared. I am, Haruhi. I'll wait for you. We can be friends until that moment, can't we?"

"Yes . . . of course we can, Renge," Haruhi said, trying to pry the ginger-haired girl off of her before she felt the ridge of the training bra underneath her t-shirt. "Now, let's go back to the others, shall we?"

"Yes," Renge said happily, her face pink. "I'm so glad I opened up to you, Haruhi."

Haruhi pretended like she didn't hear her, walking much faster down the beach back to the other Host Club members, her beach-sunset calm serenity dashed to pieces by this jarring news from Renge. The other girl didn't seem to notice, walking beside her happily.

Tamaki spied them, and immediately began shouting and waving his arms, the excitement of some new curio also returning to him his loud nature.

"Haruhi!" Tamaki called out jubilantly. "Look what we got!"

There were large white blobs on the beach, still too far away for them to see, though Tamaki's sound waves traveled easily through the air. As they walked closer, the view became clearer, and Tamaki was smiling ear-to-ear in a way that made Haruhi's jaw hurt just by looking at it.

"Was that a whinny I just heard?" Renge asked dubiously, squinted through the half-twilit gloom to where what seemed to be white—no, _gray_, white horses didn't exist—horses were whinnying and stamping their feet; and Kyoya was signing something on a clipboard and handing it to a man standing next to a large truck.

"Horses?" Haruhi asked dubiously, her gaze trained on the rejoicing blond, deadpan.

"Yes! We rented them! Haven't you ever heard of sunset horse rides on the beach?" he enthused. "The Hosts and their clients have to share a horse, the rental facility didn't have enough for everyone to have their own."

"Tamaki . . ." she said, frowning. "I can't ride a horse. It would be unfair to Renge if she had to come along with a good chance of being thrown off."

"I can't ride a horse either," the redhead admitted, smiling at Haruhi for her chivalry.

"Well, Miss Renge, you may ride with me. That is, if you don't mind?" Tamaki queried. Renge wrinkled her nose slightly at the 'impostor', but they had become somewhat on better terms lately, and she accepted with a longing look at Haruhi.

"Well, I _want_ to ride," Haruhi said, put out. Hikaru, Kaoru, and Hunny all looked down at her from their literal high-horses, sympathetic but all of them with a girl with them on the horse.

"You can ride with me, Haruhi."

"Thank you, Mori."

She would be lying if she said she was unsurprised with the offer, but it made sense, being as Mori was the only one without a client and singular on his horse. It would be nice and peaceful on a stroll with Mori, unmarked with nonstop chatter as it would be if she had opted to travel with the twins or Tamaki, or even Hunny, for that matter. She eyed the tall horse with no saddle warily for a second, before Mori swung down from where he sat and offered to lift her up.

"Thanks, Mori," she said, face turning pink. She didn't like to be dependent, or even a bother—having someone lever her up onto a large neighing beast also didn't help to make her feel more comfortable. He lifted her up anyway, and put her in front, right behind the horses' large, snuffly head. He climbed on behind her and took the reins, his arms resting loosely around her sides from the length of the leather cord.

Tamaki and Renge were already trotting down the beach, Renge chattering happily to the blond, who seemed to be turning paler each second. Haruhi had an idea of what they were talking about. She turned her gaze away from them and to the orange-gold water.

"Do you like the ocean, Mori?" she asked politely, feeling the two necessary, apologetic arms on either side of her waist like lead weights. Everything he did seemed to take on a certain . . . weight. Well, when you said so little, you didn't have time for light chatter. Every word and action you used, she supposed, was important.

"Yes," he replied simply.

Well, it didn't make for extensive conversation, at least.

"Do . . . do you like this vacation at all?" She resisted the urge to tack on 'Explain your answer' like an irritating test question, forcing him to elaborate or fail.

He didn't say anything for a second, like he couldn't hear her.

"I like certain aspects of it well enough," he said, with finality.

She didn't try to ask another question. It would feel like prying, and she already felt awkward on this horse, legs spread wide as he trotted along, making her thigh muscles ache, with the twins chatting amiably, Hunny singing less-than-artistically, and Kyoya, talking business with a somehow interested client. It just felt so much more quiet when everything around them was loud. She wanted to ask him how he'd known about that game of _Clue_, but it felt a little ridiculous. He could've jut glanced her way and noticed the page had gotten flipped over. She's making mountains out of molehills again. But there was one odd thing, though.

He put out a lot of body heat. His skin felt scorching to the touch. Maybe it was the fact she'd only been touched through thick, fine blazers and shirts or warm, conservative winter or fall clothes by the Host Club men—or men at all, really, the boys in middle school had been a little too skittish and in possession of normalcy to attack her the way the Host Club did. Maybe everyone's skin this warm. Maybe he was sick. Maybe it was the last dying embers of the warm tropical sun.

"Mori, are you feeling well?"

"Why do you ask?" his voice came calm and reassuring, and it put her at ease to hear his words flowing as sound waves into the air.

"You feel awfully hot. I was wondering if you were running a fever."

"Do I? Mitsukuni also complains that I run an exceptionally high normal body temperature."

"Really?" she asked curiously. "That's odd. You're burning up. It must be hard to make you cold."

"It's also hard to make me do anything but burn up in the school uniforms."

"Some of those cosplays must be a pain then, huh?"

"I wouldn't complain."

_Yes, I know you _wouldn't_, Mori, _she thought, almost said, irritably. _You wouldn't complain if you had to sit in a sauna for days while running a fever. But my question was if you wanted to. You never seem to do what you want for yourself, ever._

She stayed silent instead. She didn't feel the need to fill every moment with another person with meaningless chatter. She was happy, almost, to sit on the gently trotting horse, the rhythm of the hoof beats matching the hiss of the waves. The way she was sitting, admittedly, felt odd, as the horse was a large creature and it's bones were moving under the skin and poking at odd places.

"Will you be sorry to leave Barbados, Mori?" she asked.

"Mildly," he replied thoughtfully. "I grow attached to most places I stay, no matter how I feel about them."

"Me too," she said, and smiled at no where and no one, recalling all the different places she'd stayed over the years. "Are you looking forward to the dance tomorrow?"

"Not particularly," he said truthfully. "I find them too loud and obnoxious."

She nodded sagely.

"I didn't think you were the type to enjoy noise, Senpai. I don't either. It's a bit at odds with our constant surroundings, isn't it?"

She was sitting with her back a few inches from his stomach, her head unable to turn all the way around, but if she had, she would be vaguely surprised at the emotions that had been sliding subtlety across his face for the duration of their conversation. Queasiness—he did feel a bit sick—embarrassment, absorption, surprise. Mori's face was inexpressive at the best of times, but it was still slightly painful to his muscles to keep them in their trained position—unaffected. No one could see him clearly, anyway.

"It is," he said. "Mitsukuni is much milder when he is not around Suou."

"Suou . . ." she said, surprised he didn't use the blond's first name, even though he was his junior and his friend.

"I'm not close with Suou," he said with finality, and Haruhi didn't ask anything else about it.

They rode in silence for a minute. Haruhi, feeling questions and mild curiosity about Mori brush against her subconscious, poking at her, whispering to her to ask another question, break the quiet, draw him out of his shell. In that second she began playing the quiet game. Whoever could stay silent longer won. She hadn't played that game since she was little, since her father's drinking away his grief at her mothers' death had left him with bad hangovers a a worse revulsion to noise How very like Tamaki. But she knew who would win.

"The sea is very pretty at sunset, don't you think, Mori?" she blurted out, and sighed, letting the air out between her teeth, making an aggravated hiss.

She was good at holding her tongue, but not as good as he was.

**-x-**

"Kaoru, I swear—oof!"

Haruhi doubled over, breathless and irritated, shooting Kaoru Hitachiin a piercing glare. He merely grinned.

"Straighten up, Haruhi," his twin scolded, adjusting the lace at the hem of her ridiculously flouncy gown. It was pale lavender-pink, a color she felt made her look washed out, but they had insisted (or shoved the dress over her head); with a laced bodice upon which Kaoru kept pulling on because he felt the fabric was too loose. So he suffocated her with corset strings that she most definitely did not need with her slight frame.

"Remind me why I agreed to this," she wheezed, snatching the two pale rose ribbons, loosening them by a good three inches so she could breathe, and tying them in a quick, deft bow over her unimpressive bust (the twins had lent her a padded bra for the occasion, which she had denied, but made her wonder how they had gotten ahold of one).

"Kyoya offered to decrease your debt," Kaoru supplied.

"You know," she said irritably. "I checked the Host Club website. There's a page: Fujioka Haruhi's remaining debt. He hasn't decreased it since the whole dance party thing. Either that or the fact he constantly adds more things onto it balanced it out." She sighed, inhaling lungfuls of air to make up for the moments of breathlessness by Kaoru's hand. "Besides, won't someone at the party notice I'm a girl?"

"You're your visiting cousin, remember?" Kaoru sighed heavily and spoke like he would to a simpleton. "Haruhi had to fly out to Japan, as her father fell tragically ill with the influenza. So her cousin is going to stay to pack up her things and send them after her, and she was invited to the party."

"But I don't—"

"You'll get ootoro," Hikaru said, which pacified her slightly, opening a leather toolbox on Haruhi's bureau. When he lifted the lid, three shelves popped out, filled with neatly organized cosmetics.

"What do you think?" Kaoru asked, forgetting Haruhi and drifting over to his twin, poring over the box. "Should we go with natural, or pinks to compliment the dress?"

"Let's try natural first. If it's not working, then we'll go with pinks."

Haruhi felt her forehead twitch.

"All right, get out of here," she said, advancing her slight frame. "I can do my own makeup, thank you."

"Can not," Hikaru scoffed. "You liar. You just want us to leave."

"Yes, I can. I'm the daughter of an okama. Makeup application was taught to me like table manners," she scolded. "And I'd like to do it myself."

"Prove it," Kaoru said haughtily. "I don't want you walking out there looking like a clown, and we have to miss part of the party cleaning you up."

Haruhi, heaving a great sigh, took a wand of mascara off of the table, uncapped it, brushed minute lumps from the surface and gave Kaoru's already long lashes a good quarter-inch lengthening.

"You now have length and volume. Now get out of here."

"We'll check back in," they chorused, only even thinking of consenting to leave because they themselves had not begun to dress and the party began in fifteen minutes. As fun as it had been to burst in while Haruhi was merely in her undershirt and chemise under dress, and then take charge of her being dressed, they didn't want to miss the beginning of the party. They loved events like this. The noise, the laughter, the dancing, the chances for mischief abound.

She shooed them out, and returned to the mirror with a sigh. The gown had a voluminous skirt and a tightly ribboned bodice, with elbow-length sleeves with lacy, draping ends. It was apparently a costume ball, set simply back two hundred years in Barbados, when wealthy plantation owners and the parties they had thrown were common. Apparently, quote Tamaki, any self-respecting student at Ouran had a colonial costume or the means to order one in two days.

The case was large, and when she had located the subtle bronzes that she was looking for, she had a devil of a time finding just the right color. The problem was, her skin was so pale that any makeup looked loud and garish on her flesh. After a few minutes of tussling with eyeshadow and blush, she took a damp wipe, cleansed her face, and settled for mascara and lip gloss, which made her look too loud and shiny for her tastes. She didn't know why, but she wanted to look nice tonight. Maybe it was the fact that the twins would take over makeup application if she skimped at all, but she tried fiddling with makeup again. The wig on it's stand was shoulder-length and curly, and with the makeup and the people and the hair, it was all she could do not to say 'Frederick-sama' and lip sync at the moment. It was very deja vu.

She was applying a pale pink lip stick when her door opened a crack. The twins. They would be proud of her to see the way the pink cosmetic glistened. But it was a blond head, and not a redheaded one, that poked into the door, surprisingly resolute and serious.

"Senpai," she greeted, surprised. She was looking in the mirror as she addressed him. The chandeliers in the auxiliary dining room were going down, saving energy as it wouldn't be in use for the next three hours. The bulbs mounted over her bureau put out a suitable amount of light, and she faced him through the looking glass.

"Haruhi," he said, stepping inside. "Do you mind?"

"No," she said, putting down the lipstick and turning, one-half of her top lip painted. "I was just finishing. It's about to start, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, nodding. "I came here . . . to tell you that. Yes. To tell you that."

"Thank you," she said politely. "I'll be down shortly. Do you mind?"

"Oh, no, take your time. Take your time." Tamaki seemed to be repeating himself several times, as if he was unsure if the message he was trying to convey went through, or was just in a parrotlike mood tonight. She smiled at him, unsure, skittish.

"Haruhi," he said again.

"Yes," she said. "I am. Haruhi, I mean. I am Haruhi."

Oh, she had caught it too. Something about the expression on his face seemed familiar, and while they were standing a good five feet apart, he was staring at her with a firm, squinting gaze, like she was a translucent ghost he had to squint to see. It made her nervous, made her a parrot.

"Um, that first night," he said, his cheeks heating but his resolve unwavering. "That first night . . . with Kyoya."

"With Kyoya?" she repeated, frowning. She hadn't done anything with Kyoya . . . oh. Oh oh oh.

"Yes. When you said . . . when you said it wouldn't work out with any of us. Anything but friendship."

"That's what I personally believe, senpai."

"Well, I think you're wrong."

She blinked.

"I think that we would be great . . . papa and his daughter. I was wrong. I'm papa, you're mama, and Kyoya . . . Kyoya is the spinster aunt. Yes. You'll be my mama and we'll live happily ever after with our four little Host-Children."

She knew where she had seen that expression before. On Renge's face. The earnest, hopeful look of someone who knew they might be scorned.

"Tamaki . . . " she said, her voice trailing off. What could she say? She didn't quite understand what he was insinuating, though she thought she caught the drift. It was something in her no-zone. Bad. Romantic.

"I understand, Haruhi," he said, closing his eyes and smiling. "You don't want what I want. But that's okay. I'll wait for you, little daughter, mama. You can tell me when you're ready, okay?"

"Uhm," she said, not quite grasping what he was saying still.

"Oh, and Haruhi, I just think you should know," he said, squinting at her again. "The dance is starting in five minutes, and that peach really doesn't suit you."

He walked out of the room, seemingly unfazed, something Haruhi thought him incapable of. She turned and stared at the mirror. Her half-madeup lips. The mascara made the eyelashes longer, the pink in her cheeks was blush. She took a wipe and gently cleaned her lips, her cheeks, her eyelashes. She observed the naked, blank face staring frankly back at her. What made her so desirable? Her eyes were large, but her lips were thin, and she was slight and unappealing. Whatever made these handsome boys fall for her, she wanted it to get away. She was hurting them simply by existing. How awful.

He might cry for her.

Cry like her father had.

She stared at the face in the mirror for a few more minutes, but then the twins came into the room, proclaimed her beautiful without seeming to notice the status of her un-madeup face, and steered her out of her cubicle, obviously in a hurry.

They looked flawless, perfect, every wrinkle smoothed and every hair in place. She supposed that's how she looked, with her long, lustrous wig and immaculate dress, but inside she was in shambles. She couldn't pull herself together. He might cry for her.

_You know_, she told herself. _He probably didn't. Like Kyoya said, all of this is just puppy love. Nothing serious, and certainly nothing permanent. You're flattering yourself to think you're important enough to him for him to want you to be his mama so badly._

She still couldn't banish the images of pistols from her mind.

Fuck

**-x-**

There's a reason Fujioka Haruhi doesn't strive for love like most girls her age. She has basic romantic thoughts, but they're muted, and involuntary.

She's seen the many, many tears her father cried for the woman he could never again embrace. He was not only grieving for a wife but for a woman that he would follow to the end of the earth—and he almost had. The sight of little Haruhi in her white nightgown, stained yellow by not being washed and by tears , her thin fingers on the light switch, had stilled his hand on that borrowed pistol.

_It's a toy_, he told the little girl, but she knew better.

_'Tis better to have loved and lost, to have never loved at all._

Liar.

Haruhi is the most selfish person you will ever meet. For materialistic goods she doesn't care, for romance she doesn't care, for money she doesn't care, as long as she has enough to get by and live with a few amusements. But she refuses to let her heart out and love, instead keeping it locked safely away, ignoring any romantic advance, numbing herself. She will never, ever cry the tears she saw her father cry, never, ever feel for someone so deeply, she will never, ever love anyone but her father and therefore she shall never lose.

**And I know what you're saying. 'Wot? Is this the end? This SMELLS like the end, Vacancy.' But it's not. Like I said, I have ideas. Trust in me. You have at least three more chapters. AT LEAST.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers for bolstering me in my time of need. I know I said it might be a while until my next update and here it is four days later, but there you are. I don't like those I'll-make-you-wait-a-month fanfics that make me cry. I have enough time and I enjoy writing this, so here's another chapter you beautious, loverly readers.**

**Now review, or I might have to call you some bad names next chapter.**

**Love,**

**Vacancy**


	8. The Party II

**So much happens in this chapter. It's ten pages long! Sheesh! Do you guys mind how long these chapters are? I've made my friends read some of them and they always complain. But I feel like I should give you a nice, long read, huh?**

**I'd like to thank some of my reviewers:**

**tallshrimp: for some profoundly helpful reviews, my thanks cannot be fully expressed.**

**Zakuro Haruno: For giving me the link to one of my new favorite AMV's and sticking by me throughout my various FF curiosities. **

**Rocket MS17: for correcting me because I'm not very theme-park smart.**

**Kyuubi Kitsumi: Because I'm one of your favorites and I, too, fan(gender) SQUEE.**

**Sorry, guys, but no more Ranka in this chapter. Maybe some reflections later, but that was a one-time sort of thing. Didn't know it would go down with such enthusiasm! Thanks, guys!**

Disclaimer: I'm Haruhi Fujioka, so I'm allowed to write this. Because I like to make up stories about how I hook up with all the Host Club members and be a little bit different. So I'm allowed.

Chapter Eight

_The Party—Partie Deux—Leaving Ouran_

Haruhi stood by the food tables, dazed.

Most people who knew her well would hardly be surprised about her choice of station, probably simply laugh at her adoration of foodstuffs, great and small, but they would wonder why she didn't have a plate filled with various samples of various expensive delicacies. In truth, she didn't really notice the delectable scents drifting over to her, or wonder about the prices paid to get them. She wasn't listening to the fabulously talented orchestra playing an elegant-sounding song. She just watched the crowd, slightly dazed, frowning.

It was all falling apart. Kaoru—Tamaki, Renge, even. It was too much. She liked these people well enough, even if they did annoy her to the point of craziness. It was too much. She wished that they were tributaries—that she could poke at the soil until they flowed into different rivers. She didn't wish them ill, in fact, she ardently wished that they wouldn't hate her enough by the end of all of it that she could remain friends with them. But that was unlikely. The best thing she could wish for was that they would just forget all of this, or pretend it never happened

_Go in peace,_ she murmured in her head. _Forget me. I'm not worth your time._

**-x-**

"H-Haruhi?"

"Casanova," she said, looking up at him and smiling, albeit distractedly. He felt his cheeks warm under her gaze. God, was she beautiful. Not cute, like she looked in her little dresses and uniform, but honest-to-God beautiful. She looked mature, collected, looking like she spoke—older than her years. "I'm so glad you could make it."

His cheeks grew warmer. That dress—it was very nice. It accentuated her facial expression. But the wig, and the perfume, and necklace—he wanted to rip them off and find her uniform underneath, scrub her clean and breathe in her scent—of outdoors and food, and just so vaguely of the sweat she exuded on the walk home. Those things hadn't been her own choice, he could tell. It made her . . . less of her.

"Thank you for the invitation," he said, his voice coming out stiff—and she glanced over his shoulder, like she was expecting someone. He was too scared to turn and see who it was.

"Of course," she said, and her wide smile returned. "Casanova, you seem to have a bit of a fan club back there."

"What?" he asked, turning from his shoulders. "OhmyGod."

Since the episode at the Host Club, Kasanoda had become one of more popular students in his class. The girls doted over him, the guys treated him with (cautious) civility, slightly distant and worried—he was reportedly gay, after all. He watched the three or four girls watching him for a beat of silence, watching, watching him like a vulture might a carcass, and he opened his mouth to say something, they all melted away.

"They disappeared," he said, slack jawed.

"Fan clubs do that," Haruhi said, still grinning, seemingly amused by his following. He felt a pang. Of course Haruhi would know about fan clubs.

Her eyes drifted across the room, away from him, and to his horror they rested on Suou Tamaki, and they repeated the staring contest that he himself had just experienced, Haruhi with a pained look on her face. He wanted to grab back her attention, but he couldn't, so he just stood there like an idiot for a second, tapping his foot slightly in time to the music in an effort to appear cool.

"Casanova," she said abruptly, head swiveling back to him. "Would you like to dance?"

He almost passed out. Had she asked what she really asked? Sure, he had sworn he would be nothing but a friend to Haruhi, but . . . well, the song was a sophisticated waltz. This wasn't one of the various clubs his father took him to from time to time (no one had stopped him. Being a yakuza boss had it's privileges).

"Sure, Haruhi," he managed, and took her hand. It was small and soft in his larger one, and they stepped into the multitude of dancing bodies without effort.

Haruhi hummed to herself, not out of boredom (he hoped), but rather to keep the beat. Two quick notes, one slow. She was trying to lead.

"Um, Haruhi," he mumbled, and she glanced up at him, frowning. "The male traditionally leads."

"Oh!" she said, sucking in breath noisily. "That would make sense. Thank you, Casanova." She let her body relax, and his hand on her waist felt that. She followed his guidance, and smiled to herself.

"So . . ." he said, uncomfortable. "How did the Host Club manage to get you into doing this?"

"You know," she said, and unlike the other girls, who were not sure where to look—at him, straight ahead, at her feet—her eyes didn't skip around, unsure, but rested solidly on his face, his eyes. "I found that I actually do enjoy these Host Club outings, you know."

"Oh," he said. They danced in silence for a moment.

"These dances are so different from what I used to do at the festivals and school dances," she said, wondering at the collected, neat swirl of skirts and colonial suits.

"How so?" he asked, happy that she'd pulled out the conversation.

"Oh," she said, smiling wryly. "It was more like intercourse while standing."

He froze up. Haruhi. Had just said intercourse. Haruhi. In front of him. She tried to take the next step in the dance, and stumbled, finding her partner immobile.

"Casanova, are you all right?" she asked. "I'm sorry if that comment seemed coarse."

"Don't worry about it," he said stiffly.

"Yes," she said, and smiled again as he managed to shuffle along with the dance again. "It was really just a lot of jumping up and down and interestingly themed dance moves."

"Oh really," he managed. "That sounds . . . uncollected."

Haruhi laughed. Obviously she didn't notice the girls glaring at her back or the boys staring at her face, or she just didn't care. He would drop down dead with embarrassment if one half of the intensity used on her was concentrated on him, but her overwhelming naivety must protect her from that.

"They were fun," she said conversationally. "In a sort of not-fun way. I only went to the one, you know. I preferred to be home studying. But my friends made me. So I stood in the back and sort of swayed to the music."

He had been so wrong. The waltz had never felt so bad before. His hand on her waist, never mind through how many layers of thick cloth, felt bad and evil. Her little hand clasped in his. The Host Club pretending not to try to kill him with powerful glares.

In a way, he was almost grateful when the song ended, and Haruhi gave a bow—she, obviously, had not been able to recover her femininity as easily as had procured the dress.

"It was so nice of you to come, Casanova," she said again, and he smiled nervously at her.

"Hey! Hey!"

Their heads turned in tandem to stare at the frantically waving Hunny, who didn't want to yell out her name; as that would give the act away, but was finding it hard to contain himself, chewing on his lip to keep himself from an indiscreet 'Haru-chaaan!'.

"Oh," she said, and he could've been fooling himself into thinking it was reluctance that was writ on her face, but she smiled at him, slightly nervous. "I guess that's my cue to leave. Enjoy yourself, Kasanoda, have a wonderful night."

And with the correct pronunciation of his name, she disappeared into the crowd.

**-x-**

"Yes, Senpai?" she asked, drawing closer to the ecstatic blond. He was jittering slightly on his feet, like it was an effort for him to remain still long enough for her to come close enough that their conversation could not be overheard—and thus interpreted. She noted, in passing, that Mori was not standing at his shoulder, an omnipresent and seldom noticed shadow.

"Haru-chan, will you dance with me?" he asked, his large chocolate eyes staring up at her, expectant.

"With . . . with you, Hunny?" she asked blankly, and at his look of intense sadness repented immediately. She had, however, seen how the little Haninozuka heir danced—by flinging himself recklessly into the crowd and being spun about by the wrists by any lady who would 'dance' with him.

"Please?"

"Ah-of course, senpai," she said, feeling nauseous already. He took this as an invitation to grab her hands and sweep her into a reckless rendition of the dance that the orchestra was playing, with much foot-stomping, swears, and banging of heads into midsection's.

Haruhi, bruised, battered, and more than a little nauseous, stepped away from the excited blond.

"Well, senpai," she managed to wheeze, nearly doubled over in the effort to form words. "That was invigorating."

"Thank you, Haru-chan!" he said, beaming up at her, and a worried look crossed his face. "I haven't seen Takashi in a half an hour. Do you know where he is?"

She felt a stab of pity for the senior. Mori was a constant for him, and only vaguely did she think she could feel how abandoned he must feel if his silent companion left without a word. But, she could do no more than shake her head, mute.

"I'm sorry, Hunny, I haven't seen him."

"Oh . . ." he said, and smiled wobbly. "Thanks anyway, Haru-chan! Hey! Lo-chan! Would you like to dance!"

And he was off, ensnaring another helpless girl to knock the breath out of.

"Haruhi, would you like something to drink? You look . . . parched."

"Oh, thank you, Kyoya," she said, sounding slightly breathless as she addressed the other boy. "Hunny's dancing can be . . . overwhelming," she added, choosing her words carefully. He nodded, understanding.

"I'll be right back."

"Okay then . . ." she said, and found herself talking to empty air. "I'll just . . . I'll just wait here then."

She watched the colorful swirl on the dance floor, letting her eyes skip over the couples and wallflowers grouped around food tables, relaxing on chairs, conferring with the housekeeper about where the sleeping arrangements were for the night. It was all so sparkling, shining, gold, of brocade and silks and satins and large, real-jewel necklaces glinting garishly underneath the chandelier light. It was loud, in visual if not in auditory, and it made her eyes hurt.

She could see Kyoya in her peripheral vision, sauntering over from the refreshment tables, and as he drew closer and closer she realized that the two glasses he was holding loosely in a very elegant manner between his first and second fingers were not filled with clear, water-like liquid, but an amber one, and she was not going to lie and say that didn't make her anxious.

"Here," he said, offering a flute of the mysterious amber liquid. Bubbles rushed through it—oh, it's soda. Or—her knowledge of food kicked in over blatant lack of common sense—champagne.

"Champagne?" she asked, looking up at him doubtfully. He smiled, ever the gallant.

"The alcohol content of it is not high. And this is part of the rich experience. You are obligated to drink fancy champagne and make useless small talk with various children of very rich people."

His tone, despite the normalcy the word choice and condescending manner contained, made her wonder how many bubbly glasses of alcohol he'd had tonight.

"Would you like to go out on the patio? The air in here is sweltering," he said, touching a tentative finger to his forehead, which was ever so slightly beaded with sweat. The fires were roaring and candles were burning all around the room, making the air hot and thick.

"Yes, please," she said, and smiled at one of the girls that was staring at her curiously. Most of the girls were boiling with anger at this dark-haired enigma—monopolizing not only the Host Club but the newly popular Ritsu.

The oblivious pair walked out of the large, floor-to-ceiling French doors that gave a portrait view of the scenic ocean, and onto the cool, wide patio. It was nearly empty, the slabs of marble cast into an orange like relief by the flickering flames inside, and the moon was reflected on the sea, the trail of ethereal white that cell phone cameras can never capture.

"I tire of these escapades," Kyoya said, sighing and sipping his drink. He glanced at her untouched flute. "Go on, try it," he urged. "It's very high-quality. No better way to have a first taste."

She almost lowered the glass, simply because of the innocence written on his angular face, but Haruhi will be Haruhi. She loves all sustenance, great and small. Tentatively, she sipped the drink. She frowned slightly, not expecting the slight tingle of the bubbles, but nodded.

"That's good."

"Here, there's a table over there. I need a break from this. My head is pounding."

"All right," she said, following him over. Her shoes clacked obtrusively on the stone, though thankfully the raised heels were a mere half inch, making them fairly easy to walk in. As they made their way towards the table tucked into the shadows just where the semicircular patio railing and the house's side met in a curved sort of corner, she fumbled in a small pocket nestled in her skirt.

"Here," she said, handing him a small blue bottle. "It's painkillers. They make me a little fuzzy sometimes, extra-strength, but they do the trick better than any of the other ones I've used."

He studied the bottle for a moment, reading attentively the dosage instructions, and emptied two small bluish pills onto his hand.

"Oh, don't use two," she said, shaking her head. "One works. Two would be—"

"You're smaller than I am, Haruhi," he said, popping them into his mouth and using his champagne to swallow them down. "I don't think that using alcohol to wash it down is strictly recommendable, but I'll be fine."

"Oh, fine," she grumbled, dropping the bottle back into her pocket.

"Why do you have those, anyway?" he asked, nodding towards the small pouch. "We're at a party."

"We're at a Host Club party," she corrected. "It's been fairly calm so far, but one can never be too cautious, especially at balls thrown by Tamaki Suou.

And that's when his face turned blue! And he started to choke, and Haruhi realized that she hadn't given him Aspirin but the poison she was going to feed to Tamaki to kill him! And he had taken it because he had a death wish! (**A/N:** _Ohmygoodness, the urge to write that was overwhelming, you must understand. I was just kidding. I've been reading awful fanfiction far too much lately for my own well being. Happy belated April Fools day. You all would kill me so bad if I had been serious. xD_)

"Ah," he said, nodding. "A good strategy. I should remember that in the future, only . . ."

"Only what?" she asked, yawning, while trying also to look interested (a difficult feat).

"Only you're not allowed to bring pills to most of the parties I attend." She stared at him blankly. "Assassination attempts, you must understand. Important people attend those benefits, and a mastermind can make a fatal dosage look like a baby aspirin."

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Haruhi feeling the difference between her world and theirs more strongly than ever. What would happen after graduation? Would she just chug along, without ootoro—or, more importantly, them? What would happen? Would they stay in touch? Nothing could remain the same. In a way, this made her feel acute grief. For all of her bravado and reluctance, the Host Club was her second family. They would all have businesses, companies, empires to attend to, while she sat in law seminars. Adults couldn't shoulder their way into adventures and drama the same way teens could.

Suddenly, the far-off future seemed imminent. She remembered Kyoya's fathers words only too clearly: _You may think that you have all the time in the world when you're young. You are wrong._

"Hm?" Kyoya asked, looking up with vague interest.

"What?"

"Didn't my father say that to me? At the Student Festival?"

"Oh." She must've said it aloud. And for some reason, this made things even more painfully real. She examined the glass in her hand. Very pretty, and her father's near-alcoholism after her mothers' death had led to therapy groups, and she had heard too many times—_alcohol is a release. _

She tipped her glass up and downed the entire thing. The bubbles made her cough and splutter, and Kyoya was looking at her oddly.

"Did you just chug your champagne?"

"It tasted very good," she half-lied unskillfully.

So much had happened lately. Kaoru, at night, the game of Would You Rather, that awful episode with Kyoya that first night, Tamaki, oh, God . . .

She hated that it was happening, but she never wanted it to end.

"Would you like another drink, Haruhi?" Kyoya asked gallantly, even though he was still scanning her face with slight, ironic motherly concern while offering to serve alcoholic beverages to a minor.

"Yes," she said, sighing. "Yes, I would."

She had also heard the words: _But it is not, merely a way to avoid grief—_but she hadn't listened to those ones in a long time.

**-x-**

She sipped her third glass of champagne.

Despite her slight build, the alcohol wasn't doing anything but making her pleasantly floaty. She remembered her mother coming home after cases she'd won smelling vaguely of sake—she'd say that she went out to celebrate, and nothing more. Perhaps that and her natural-tolerance father had added up to make a daughter who wasn't affected badly by alcohol. It was a pleasant feeling, in any case.

Kyoya was still toying with his first—that she'd seen him drink, anyway—and seemed hardly any more off the edge, or maybe, as befitted his personality, he was merely a stoic drunk.

The party was still going on inside, and once or twice Tamaki or the twins had poked their heads out of the French doors, looking for Haruhi, but she had pressed herself back into the shadows, smiling slightly at this small triumph, and they had just shrugged and passed on.

"So," Haruhi said, twirling her nearly empty flute stem in her fingers. "Is your headache feeling any better, Kyoya?"

"Mildly, yes, thank you," he said, inclining his head. "I'll have to look for that brand in the future."

"Right," she said, tugging at her lacy sleeve. "How much do you think this dress costs?"

He gave her a quick up-and-down glance, and did some calculations.

"Well, the lace is clearly handmade, vintage, possibly. The fabric is . . . finely made, and you have no idea how difficult it is to get a hold of well-made linens like the ones that make up your petticoats. But . . . as for cost," he coughed. "It doesn't matter. The twins made that for you, by themselves."

"Well," she said, rubbing the lace in between her fingers. "This won't fit in my closet. It will take up so much room. When will I ever wear it again? My wedding? Fat chance." She snorted and sipped again. "The only occasion I'll ever have to wear this is at your ridiculous balls, and I have to pretend to be a boy then, anyway. It's impractical."

"Haruhi . . . this dress . . ." he was looking at her oddly. She glanced up at him and raised her eyebrows.

"Yesss?"

"That dress . . . is hardly a wedding gown . . . it . . . it's not made of the finest material, hardly . . ."

"Well, it's better than what I could ever afford on my own."

She wasn't looking at him, only far out, into the ocean waves. Her slippered foot tapped vaguely to the lilting music inside the house, and she had slight frown lines over her eyes.

"Oh."

"Mmm."

"You know, Haruhi . . . if the time came . . . if you were ever to be married . . . you know the Host Club would be more than happy to pay for the dress."

'She glanced at him, and sighed.

"No, thank you. I'll take my cheap cotton any day," she downed her glass and rose to her feet. She felt embarrassment and self-consciousness build in her. "Thank you for sitting out here with me, senpai. I'll be going back inside now."

"Haruhi—wait."

She looked at where his hand was encircling her slim, pale wrist, and raised her eyes to his with a slightly incredulous expression.

"Let go of me, Kyoya."

"Haruhi . . ."

"Seriously. I need to get back inside."

"Haruhi, I've been meaning to talk you about something."

"So talk."

He was decided. He didn't like Haruhi when she consumed alcohol. She lost all of her polite respectiveness, becoming some flat, deadpan creature. The alcohol was making him lighter, floaty-er, and he felt confident when he spoke to her next.

"Haruhi . . . I understand that you feel pressured by the twins and Tamaki's . . . advances." She felt her muscles tense, and he must have felt it, but he continued to speak, unhurried. "This is completely understandable. They are supposed to be your good friends, and here they are trying to be more. I also understand that you try not to notice this . . . because you don't want to."

She stared up at him, an expression on her face like that of one who was trying to classify an animal or answer a particularly hard math question—slightly pinched, worried-looking. She felt the expression on her face.

"And I think . . . that Haruhi, they're just not your type."

Now shock, disbelief.

"They keep trying to force themselves on you. You don't like that. You need someone who you can go to, because they won't always be over your shoulder. Someone who won't consume every second of your time."

"Funny you should mention 'forcing themselves' on me, because no one has ever even come near to doing that except—" she said, wrenching herself out of his grip and beginning to walk away, but he was behind her, his hands on shoulders, mouth above her ear, speaking rapid fire. His lips brushed her ear only slightly, and she felt anxiety and horror at what he was doing build.

"Haruhi, please, just listen. This is all my father asks me about anymore—if I've acquainted myself with you in the way he finds acceptable. It's always been so easy to satisfy his demands, but I've never needed the cooperation of a reluctant person before. I have no idea how to grasp this situation. You must help me."

"No," she said, trying to wriggle out of his grip. "Let me go, Kyoya."

"Please, Haruhi?" he asked, his voice pleasant. "I'm asking for one date, one act for my father until you find me not to be in your taste, and life will go on. Tamaki need never know."

Oh, God. They all had their reasons, didn't they? They all had their different ways to break her heart—and they thought she was breaking theirs! The idea was laughable, but she didn't feel any giggles.

"Kyou-chan?"

"Hunny?"

Haruhi felt her head jerk up from where it was drooping sadly on her collarbone. Hunny was standing just out of the reaches of the shadows, the buttons of his vest glinting in the light.

"You should let Haru-chan go," he said softly, tilting his head on one side. "She doesn't like to be held."

She felt a rush of affection for the small boy as Kyoya released her and straightened his tie, smiling beatifically, already acting as if it had never happened, didn't matter. Ha-ha..

"Of course, Hunny. If you would please return to the ballroom as soon as possible, the Hosts are few and far between tonight."

He strode easily past both of them and into the ballroom, disappearing into light.

And he just walked away. Just like that. At least the others had had the decency to give their requests respect—but he just walks away.

She covered her mouth with her hand, feeling a sour taste in her mouth. Hunny was watching her, concerned, but she couldn't meet his eyes. She walked, quickly, because it didn't feel right to just stand alone in the shadowed corner, so she moved, though she wasn't sure where. Into the light Kyoya had vanished into, but certainly not to face him.

"Haru-chan?" Hunny asked doubtfully, falling into her wake. "Are you all right, Haruhi?"

"Fine, Hunny," she said, her voice tight. "I'm fine, thank you."  
His voice grew sharp. "He didn't . . . _do _anything to you, did he, Haru-chan?"

She nearly choked on the air she breathed, feeling almost like she should laugh at this. People were looking at her oddly, but she really didn't care. She smiled. Lied.

"No, Hunny-senpai, I'm fine. Like I said."

He exhaled, and smiled happily up at her.

"Oh, good. Haru-chan . . . you know, I wanted to talk to you, about something."

"What?" she asked tiredly, and his smile wavered.

"Well . . . I feel like . . ."

"Oh, no," she said hoarsely, turning her face away. "Don't."

Oh, God, no. She raised a hand for a second, like she was going to slap the little boy, and then caught herself. Hunny was looking up at her, his chocolate eyes full of hurt—but no fear, he knew he could stop her before she—what? Tried to slap the loving her out of his head? She couldn't lower her hand. She just couldn't. She was overloaded with emotion. She didn't know how to handle this. It was too much.

"Haruhi, don't!"

A whisper ran through the crowd, which had largely fallen silent when it had spied her raising her hand to Hunny. Haruhi? The ability to move reentered her brain, and she let her hand drop.

"Haruhi, were you going to hit Hunny?" the blond asked, arriving breathless and confused next to her.

"Of course not," she said, turning her head away from him. "I just—I just—"

"Haruhi?"

Haruhi lifted her head, staring at Renge. She was resplendent in a long dark blue dress, her hair free of her signature floppy bow, letting her straight hair fall around her face, which was painted with something between bewilderment and resentment.

"Haruhi, is that you?"

She was flooded, floating off. Despite what she wanted to believe, the best of all of these people, she knew what was happening. She was being corrupted. She had never been anything but polite and kind before she had entered the prestigious school, and now she felt herself flinging words and actions out that she had never before let escape anything but the dimmest realm of the unworldly.

"Yes," she said, surprised that her voice was clear. Tamaki had blanched paler than before, putting a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off and gripped the wig, letting it drop to the floor. Haruhi Fujioka, out for the world to see.

"I'm sorry, Tamaki, I'm sorry, Hunny, I'm so very sorry, Renge, but I don't believe I'll be able to keep up this charade anymore. I'll send payments for the vase to Kyoya when I am able to, and I apologize profusely for any trouble caused. I just . . ."

She lowered her head, her hands limp by her sides.

"I just don't think I'll be able to stay at Ouran any longer."

**-x-**

Lola's life was a simple one. Sit at the desk, answer questions about flights, tune out angry customers while nodding sympathetically. The worst part of the job was when she had to sell tickets and pretend to be welcoming, but that wasn't so bad.

Needless to say, she was shocked beyong words when an amazingly pretty Japanese girl straggled through the door of the airport and came over to her desk, wearing a gigantic, beautifully ornate ballgown, brandishing a round-trip ticket that was set to leave tomorrow.

"May I exchange this for the next flight to Japan if there's any left?"

"Sure," she managed, checking the database. "Two on the next flight, first class, in about twenty minutes.

Her face was relieved when she heard this, unlike most people, who seemed to be outraged the flight left at any other time than the one they preferred.

"Thank you so much," she said in her careful English. "You've helped me so well."

"Anytime," Lola muttered as she handed the new girl her ticket, wondering how to tell this story to the girls.

**-x-**

The Host Club sat in stunned silence.

Kaoru had weakly suggested they go after her, God, maybe an hour before, but no one had replied, and he hadn't pursued it. When Haruhi made a decision, she stuck to it. And there would be plenty of time—later. She'd have to come back sometime, to get her things. With her affinity for worldly goods, she'd hardly leave her suitcase here.

None of them remembered the suitcase they packed had been full of clothes that they thought she looked cute in, not that she wanted.

All the guests had left, whispering and gossiping. Haruhi—gone! None of the girls were brokenhearted, except for the few who had really loved Haruhi in earnest, and they were still recovering from the epiphany she was female.

This left the Host Club sitting, in shambles, on the ballrooms floor.

"My daughter . . ." Tamaki keened. "My precious daughter! What did we do to her?"

"We alienated her," Kyoya said miserably, something stronger than champagne in his hands. "We made her become something she wasn't ever before."

"What did you say to her, Hunny?" Hikaru asked, his head lying limp on his brothers lap, for once the one to be comforted by his barely-smaller brother, face pulled into a frown.

"I . . . nothing," Hunny said, sniffling. "I just . . . I just told her I felt—but she got angry before I could finish.

"You felt what?" Kyoya asked, jerking his head up.

"I was going to say I felt like she was my bigger sister," he said, his eyes cloudy. "But she wouldn't listen."

And Mori, who had been found after Haruhi had been lost, sat behind his little ward, silent as always, a silence only Haruhi had ever found deafening.

**CLIMAX CHAPTER.**

**It's all conclusion from here. **

**But it's a WONDROUS conclusion. And I hope you noticed I changed the summary to HaruMori EVENTUALLY. That's because I procrastinate, my dears, and for me, if you do one insinuated pairing, the story gets rather long and drawn out. Therefore, you need side-plots and drama. And who provides both? The Host Club, my dears, and don't you forget it. But Mori is still the main character, though I will not deny I enjoyed writing Kyoya getting Haruhi tipsy at all. He'll come through, even if he was absent this chapter.**

**ANYWAY. **

**It took me forever to write this chapter. My longest yet (with my longest Authors Notes as well . . . --;;). And like I said, more to come. Mori shall step in, never frett.**

**Have I ever failed you before?**

**Hoped you enjoyed my little April fools joke—to many bad plotless fanfictions recently to make me realize the error of my ways. **

**Lova Ya,**

**-Vacancy**


	9. Ache

A/N:** A very short chapter.I realize this. I have the next one, all ready to go and seven pages long besides, but for a year to pass, you need more than no chapters. So here's a bit of transition, just in case. I'm not sure what to call this? Angst? But it's a crack in her veneer. And, OH. Vote on the poll on my profile. NOW. I need to put up two. -worries- Oh, well. Do it. For me.**

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club, manga or anime

Chapter Nine

_Oh, How Her Heart Aches_

A year passed.

She liked Ourin. It was like a homecoming. Everyone knew her, and after a few days of discomfort, she sank easily back into her place of easy popularity. No questions asked. She did her homework with Arai, wrote a formal apology to the Chairman at Ouran for her sudden resignation from the school, sent back her uniform, clean and pressed, but he sent it back, insisting that she keep it. She did, but she stuffed it in a drawer, next to that awful, poofy pink-lavender dress.

100 yen payments were sent to Kyoya monthly, and much more often if she had the money. She'd pay him back in full, someday.

Haruhi was top in her class. She was golden. She never missed a day, turned in all of her homework, aced all of her tests, and was never prideful about it. She entertained with tales of Ouran, the sumptuous lunches, the elegant buildings, ridiculous uniforms, and the cathedral library, where it all began.

Oh, how her heart ached.

She grew her hair out, for a while, captured it in a ponytail. Wisps always floated down, settling on either side of her face. She looked so much like her mother that it drove Ranka mad. With a banging door and a shouted apology, he left her alone one night. Out to drink the memories away. Haruhi didn't worry profusely. Her father would make it back okay, and he knew enough to call a cab if he really needed help. In penance for her fathers' pain, she cut her hair short again, trying to rediscover the way the twins--to think their names was painful--had cut it. It looked nice.

She wasn't duly worried when he didn't come home. She made up her futon and fell asleep. When he didn't return the next morning, she left for school as usual. He was probably sleeping off the drink at a friends' house.

But after three days, she worried so much it hurt.

She called around. Was too scared to make fliers, because that would bring the police around. With no parent, what would she do? Be put in a foster home, with a fake mother. Everyone kept trying to replace her own mother. Her father, Tamaki with Kyoya, the teachers at school. She just wanted to hold on to her blood mother who she loved more than anyone else in death, in peace.

And when a week had passed, she would accept anyones' help to keep her from foster homes.

So when he came to her door, a complete adult, all she could do was beg him to stay.

**Review, my lufferlies, _s'il vous plaite. _The more reviews I get the faster I post up that next chapter! Mm-hmmz.**

**-Vacancy**


	10. Remembrance

A/N:** Oh-so much happens! A year has passed at Ouran since Haruhi fled. What ensues? Drama? Pain? Read and find out!**

**I got a few miffed readers wondering why the Host Club didn't try to get her back. Well, that's because it was from Haruhi's point of view. Now we're going more in-depth into Ouran again. Once again I ask that you vote on the poll on my profile. It's your way of getting what you want from this story—the question becomes why AREN'T you voting?**

Disclaimer:** I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. **

Chapter Nine

_Remembrance_

It was the way of the Host Club, she supposed, to regroup around problems, push them aside, make believe they never happened and just soldier on. No one could live with the drama and pain that those six spectacularly spoiled children had suffered without an impressive sense of humor and a penchant for pretending life was just peachy. She had grown to expect that from them—when a confrontation was resolved, everything was back to normal.

What she hadn't expected was how bad it would hurt her that they could forget her as well.

Her second family, gone.

Ourin High School was clean, modern, and competitive. The labs were state-of-the-art, the dances were extravagant, and the classrooms were spacious and airy with wide-open windows. It was the top school in the city. The teachers were kind, provocative, interesting. The curriculum was delivered in an ensnaring way, and she was constantly challenged by the coursework, instead of just intent upon finishing it. And yet she couldn't help but think, sometimes, back to the school where nothing had been accomplished but everything was spectacular, where the students only cared for their studies in passing but attended the most elite High School in Japan. She missed it, so much.

She would not lie. There had been flowers, peace offerings, cards, letters sent to her door, visits from the desperate Host Club that went unanswered, the door shut tight, lock turned. They had even followed her to Misuzu's pensione the summer after her freshman year in the hopes that the okama housekeeper would make her be civil to them as guests and thus make her doubt her decision. And she treated them with a careful, waitress' hospitality, smiling when she needed to, replying charmingly to questions, but ignoring all personal queries. They left, dejected, and suddenly the fight was over. The deliveries stopped coming. She stopped having to silence her phone. Haruhi Fujioka was out of their lives, cutting herself out as quickly and painlessly as possible.

Tamaki still can't drink instant coffee.

Kyoya can't find it in himself to erase the column labeled Haruhi on the Host Club designation sheets.

The twins can't bring themselves to delete the web page 'Haruhi Fujioka's Debt.'

And no one ever, ever sits on the little love seat in the corner of the Third Music Room that Haruhi favored to do her homework on so quietly during meetings.

Some freshmen had asked, in the new year, who the pretty brunette boy was in the Host Club's old picture collections. They averted their eyes, did not answer. Most assumed that Haruhi had a freak accident and passed away. Decorums' stricture indicated that therefore they should not ask further.

One freshman, however, could not let this go. Her name very difficult to pronounce, fondly shortened to Haku, had perused this matter of the lost brunette boy endlessly. Designating all of the Hosts in turn, she pestered each and every one of them. She had been banned from the Third Music Room, until she promised she could be good and quiet and Ooh and Aah like all the other nice, easily romanced girls did. The most help she had received was Kyoya Ootori dropping his head in his hands and muttering 'Haruhi'. And since she had said she would not ask further, she didn't.

So she researched.

She skimmed through the schools' records, looking for fine, upstanding children in either Tamaki's or the twins' year. He had been in 1A, she knew that much, so old money was assured. But then she divined he must've been a scholarship student, in all of the pictures taken of Haruhi, when not dressed in the uniform or in a costume, his clothes were nondescript and hardly brand name. From a poor family, her last name as good as dirt. This did nothing but add to the mystique of the situation. Always with a sense of mystery, was Haku. Her mother, ironically, was a worldwide famous mystery thriller writer, and her father produced horror movies. It was in her bones to wonder about Haruhi, and wonder she did, and then some.

Looking through the Host Clubs' collection of old yearbooks one day, she found him.

A folder sandwiched between the 2001 and 2002 yearbooks, blue and thick, labeled in Kyoya's careful, deliberate print. FUJIOKA, HARUHI.

Excitement in her veins, she slipped the folder in her bag and excused herself. The file must have been forgotten, as none of the Club members had objected to her request of looking through all the old books when Tamaki, her host for the day, had to move on to his next appointment.

Kyoya nodded distractedly at her, bidding her goodbye, and she left. After a few months of not pelting them with painful questions, the Host Club had relaxed to her. She was a customer with no dead set designations, and they kept a careful eye on her, but mostly she sat on a loveseat in the corner and read, when not being wooed by the Hosts, seemingly just wanting a relatively quiet place.

Once in her waiting car, she ripped open the folder, devouring the information inside. There was a printed information sheet, crisp and white, and many more battered pages behind it, but she tempered her curiosity and read the printer paper.

His name was Haruhi Fujioka. He was in class 1A last year, with the twins. Just one year older than Haku. And she would not deny, she had cultivated something of a crush on Haruhi over the weeks, this mysterious, vanished boy. Brunette. Brown eyes. Heavy glasses prescription, his uniform size listed neatly below. His type was 'natural'; that she couldn't fathom. At the bottom of the sheet were the words: BROKE RENE VASE. INDEBTED TO CLUB, 100 DESIGNATIONS THEN FREE.

She couldn't be sure, but it seemed that Haruhi had been blackmailed by the Host Club.

Barely processing this, she set the page aside and yanked the next out. A transfer sheet. With his address. He had come to Ouran freshman year, stayed for a year, then left. How interesting. Then, there were handwritten sheets. Notes, with Kaoru and Hikaru's name in an elegant, careful print, reprimanding them for trying to pass notes, a copied recipe written in a different hand, a picture of a woman with black hair, and finally, Haruhi himself. Standing there with a small Japanese sweet encased in a glass bubble in his hands, smiling sideways at the camera, his profile in view. Her breath caught. She must visit this Haruhi. She must.

She read the address off the paper to her driver, and he sped away.

She could barely contain her excitement as they whizzed down unfamiliar streets, toward plainer neighborhoods. Her eyes scanned the passing buildings with rapt interest, until they suddenly stopped. An apartment complex. She couldn't explain it, but somehow she had been expecting something a bit more . . . exciting than the nondescript gray block apartment building before her. A falling-down hovel, maybe, or a flat above an opium den. But maybe that was her sense of adventure, getting away from her again.

She still hoped for a moment that the driver would shout through the divider between front and back of the car that the brake had stuck, and they would whizz on to one of these more exciting places. But instead, the black divider rolled down, and she was forced to admit the gray apartment complex was good enough.

"Here we are, Miss Haku."

"Thank you," she said, nodding to the driver. "I'll be out . . . soon. You may call my cell phone if I'm inside for too long."

"Yes, Miss. Are you sure you don't want to call a security official to escort you?"

"No, thank you."

She opened the door and stepped carefully over the damp, full gutter, her black Mary Janes shining dully in the sunlight. She felt odd, as she always did out of Ouran, in her yellow dress, but she shook out the paper reading Haruhi's address, trying for unflappable confidence, and climbed up the stairs that led to the second floors' landing, which shook slightly under her feet.

2-6. Fujioka.

Breath held tight in her throat, she knocked.

"Just a minute!" a voice called. A young voice. A cheerful one. Footsteps, a deeper voice, a chime of laughter, and then the door opened, and there stood Haruhi, her little brunette boy.

**-x-**

Haruhi saw the yellow dress, and memories flooded her.

"Hello?" she managed, staring at the redheaded girl just beyond her threshold, who was standing straight-backed, with a look of being struck in her eyes. They stood there for a few moments, the two of them, both shocked to see the other, staring at the face opposite them like fools. Until one found the words to speak.

"A—Are you Haruhi Fujioka?"

"I am," she said, feeling his gaze from inside the apartment bore into the back of her neck. She shook her head, trying to dissipate the feeling, shake away his gaze.

"I-I'm Haku."

"Hello, Haku," she said politely. "May I help you?"

"Did you used to belong to Ouran High School Host Club?"

Haruhi stared at her for a second, this odd little girl who had just made memories Haruhi had managed to shutter away explode in her mind. She supposed she could still be mistaken for a boy, with her hair cut short again, and dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. She still didn't like fancy clothes, and never would. She didn't own any of the old dresses her father bought her, only the lavender-pink gown wadded up into a bag and shoved in her closet. Only natural that she would be mistaken for old-Haruhi, and not the brand-new one, the girl.

"I don't attend Ouran any more." Those were the only words she could find.

"But didn't you, once?"

"Yes. Once."

She heard feet on that tatami behind her, and his large, warm presence radiated into the space. Haku stared up at the face, her jaw slack.

"T-Takashi Morinozuka?"

"Yes," he said flatly. Haruhi glanced up at him, irritation writ on her features.

"Would you . . . ah, would you like to come in?"

"Yes," she said, a large smile pasted across her pretty, symmetrical features. Haruhi stepped to the side and allowed her to cautiously enter—a neat, small apartment suite greeted her, much to her relief.

"Mori and I were just sitting at the table and reminiscing," she said, gesturing at Haku to sit. "I'll go make some more tea."

"Oh, no," Haku said, shaking her head so her hair whipped around her face. "I . . . I don't like tea. I'll just sit, shall I?'"

"Yes, okay," Haruhi said, bemused by her behavior, walking over to the dining room table, with Mori settling on the other side. His long legs folded compact, just barely hitting Haruhi's underneath the tabletop. It had taken him a while to develop that ability. Her legs had been rainbow colors of bruises for the first few days. Haku hesitantly settled down, scrutinizing Haruhi's face, trying to gage her reaction.

"So . . . Haku. Why are . . . who told you about me?"

"No one," Haku said, a bit of pride slipping into her tone. "I found your pictures in some of the old photo books and I asked the Host Club who you were. Kyoya Ootori just said 'Haruhi', so I thought, wow, this is interesting, I wonder who Haruhi is. So I did some research—"

"You know who she reminds me of?" Haruhi asked Mori, cutting Haku off, and the man regarded her with a blank stare. Haruhi cracked a smile. "Renge. She reminds me of Renge so much it hurts."

"Renge?" Haku asked, bewildered. Haruhi was looking at Mori, awaiting his reaction. She had learned, after a while, that it wasn't that he didn't react. He just reacted more slowly than most people, and less obviously. You had to poke around his features to notice the barest twitch of a muscle that was his smile. Haruhi was rewarded—a slight spark in his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching upward in appreciation of the jibe.

"Isn't she still at Ouran? She must've left for France, then," Haruhi sighed, taking a small cake from the elaborate carousel set at the middle of the table. "Oh, have one, Haku. They're delicious. Mori bought them."

"Mitsukuni kept dozens of them around," Mori murmured.

Haruhi supposed that might be something of a bit of homesickness for him, and a flash of guilt exploded in front of her eyes, before she brushed it away. She needed this—him—to stay, to keep going. This one selfish act.

"So," Haruhi said. "How is the Host Club doing nowadays?" Her voice cracked slightly on the words 'Host Club'.

"Well, Tamaki is just as romantic as ever, he's so stoic, so mysterious—"

"Mysterious?" Haruhi and Mori asked in unison, bemused and whisper-soft, respectively.

"Oh, yes," Haku said, nodding. "He's so beautiful, too. Very vain. And the twins—ah. They're very closed, aren't they? They don't really react to anyone but each other."

Haruhi flinched as though she had experienced a physical pain, and Mori, eyes ever attentive, closed for a second.

"They weren't, for a while," Haruhi said, nodding, a grimace on her face. "And Kyoya? How is he?"

"Well, he's very quiet. Very . . . creepy. But in a good way, quite . . . charming, almost, the way he is sparing with words. I think he's my favorite. And then there's the new freshman Hosts, I don't think you'd know them."

_Sparing with words._ Haruhi had never thought of him that way before. She wondered what, or who, had made him so closed-off, but then she moved on to her other question, before she could attribute it to a shortcoming of her own.

"How many new Hosts?" Haruhi asked, curious.

"Oh, four."

"Four!" Haruhi said, breath rushing out of her lungs. That was very many Hosts this year, then. She sighed. She missed being a part of it.

"Haruhi, I hope it isn't too rude of me to ask, but why did you leave Ouran?"

"Oh," she said, and grimaced. "It . . . well, being a Host wasn't good for me. Good for them."

"Arguable," Mori muttered.

"Oh, be quiet," Haruhi sighed.

"And . . . again, I'm sorry if this is rude, but why is Mori here, and the other Hosts won't talk about you?"

"Won't talk—" she cut herself off, paused a second. "Mori and I have managed to retain our friendship, while the rest of the Hosts . . ." she shook her head. "It is impossible for me to remain on friendly terms with them."

"But why?" Haku pressed, and Haruhi dropped her chin onto her hands, furrowing her eyebrows. And here she had thought the most exciting thing she'd do that day was make hot pot for dinner..

"You don't need to—"

"Oh, for Gods' sake, Haruhi," Mori said, and Haku started, not expecting the silent man to speak. "They were all in love with her, and she doesn't operate well with affections."

"Mori!" Haruhi shrieked.

Haku stared at Mori, who sipped his tea. Her mouth hung open for a second, and she seemed not to process this fully for a second.

"You said . . . she."

"I'm a girl," Haruhi said, glaring at Mori, who stared back, unrepentant.

"A girl . . . but you were a Host! And you wore the boys' uniform!" Haku protested, sure she was being had.

"It was to repay a debt."

"I don't believe it."

"Would you like to see my new school uniform? Skirt and all?"

Haku was silent a moment, before she attacked the other parts of Mori's statement.

"The entire Host Club, in love with you? I don't believe it!"

"I don't either."

"That's because you're naïve. Haruhi," Mori said, his face flat.

"Oh, be quiet."

Haku's phone rang loudly in her pocket, and she jumped. The driver, reassuring himself of her safety, of course. She glanced at the loudly ticked clock on the wall, and sighed heavily. The time at the Host Club and the time here had eaten into her free period between school and her parent's required family time. Questions would be asked if she didn't leave soon.

"I have to go now," Haku said, slightly thankful of the time she could be allotted to process this information overload, but afraid she might not be welcomed back. "May I come back?"

"Yes," Haruhi said automatically, politeness always a factor.

"Tomorrow, after school?"

"Public school gets out later than Ouran."

"I can wait."

"Then . . . I suppose . . . you may, yes."

"Thank you," Haku said, staring at Haruhi, the little brunette 'boy' she'd spent months thinking over, wondering about, daydreaming of—sitting in front of her, with _her_ cute little smile on her face, looking for all the world a nice little boy.

She flipped her phone up, standing.

"Yes, yes, you old nag," she snapped into it, striding out the door and letting it slam.

Haruhi turned to face Mori, her expression one of a person suffering from shock, just able to head Haku's voice outside—"I'm coming right now, keep your hat on."

**-x-**

"Welcome."

"Hello, boys," Haku said, her manner, as always, cavalier and as reminiscent of Renge as Haruhi had pointed out. The Host Club, arrayed this time simply in their school uniforms, smiled charmingly at her.

"Good afternoon, Haku," Kyoya said smoothly, "Who shall you be designating today?"

She pretended to deliberate. She had so much to tell—or not tell. She hadn't decided yet today whether or not she would tell the Host Club about her encounter with Haruhi. But she knew her easy out.

"Tamaki, I think."

"He has a waiting list, but as you are the first arrival, I can get you ten minutes. The twins have an open spot after that, would you like their company afterwards?"

"Yes, yes, that will do fine," she said dismissively, and Tamaki rose and took her arm, ushering her to a table under a window. The gray clouds outside the glass rolled slowly across the sky, but in that disturbing low-lying cumulus way that made you feel like time was speeding up. They covered the blue of the spring sky, a grayish woolly blanket across the sun.

"You look lovely this afternoon, Princess," Tamaki purred in her ear, and she felt a shiver trip it's way up her spine. Damn attractive Parisian. She couldn't ever convince herself that his love act was completely an act, like every other girl who designated him, thereby giving herself a shades-of-gray feeling that he might actually like her.

"Thank you," she said, sitting down without giving him the opportunity to pull out her seat. His mouth twitched and he sat across from her.

"It is almost summertime, Princess. Do you enjoy the heat?"

"Yes, I do. I prefer it to cold, at least."

He swooped in.

"Ah, but the humid air can become so cold when he are so apart, my love. The pain and cold we feel, separate, is nothing compared to the warmth we feel together."

She felt herself melt. She just couldn't help it. He had her almost upside down, his breath a warm torrent on her face, smelling of cinnamon.

"Oh, yes," she said, breathily. "But . . . the blood is rushing to my head, Senpai. I can't feel my hands."

"Oh. Yes. Right."

He righted her, allowing her to sit back down, but his hand reached around and snagged an iron bar on the back of her seat, pulling it easily around the table.

"Let us not become cold again, Princess," he said, putting an arm around her shoulder and pulling her towards him ever-so-slightly so that her head rested on his shoulder.

"Tamaki . . ." she said, and his cheek was a light pressure on the crown of her head. "I wanted to talk to you . . ."

"About what?"

"Haruhi."

She felt his arm tense, felt his head move just a little on her hair.

"Now, now, Princess, let's not go chasing the wind," he said, his voice slightly choked. It was better than before. The first time Haku has asked, he had recoiled and thrust her away, retreated into a corner for the rest of the week, his tears dripping into puddles. The twins had brushed it off as normal behavior for him, but they hadn't asked what she had said.

"I know she's not the wind."

He didn't say anything for a second.

"Oh, so now Haruhi is a she?" His chuckle sounded twisted. "You're . . . so imaginative, Haku."

Haku jerked out from underneath his head, scowling feircely with her pixie's face.

"I know she exists, Tamaki. I've spoken to her."

The sun broke through the gray cotton clouds, the beam falling heavily over his face. The luminosity on his skin hid his expression, but his voice was tight.

"Please, Haku. Don't do this again. We'll have to revoke your Host Club entrance if you keep asking such rude questions."

She laughed, nervously.

"You wouldn't."

"_Au contraire, mademoiselle_, I would. Now hush up about Haruhi."

"Tamaki—"

"Maybe it's time for you to leave, Haku."

"_Tamaki_, I—"

"Shall I have the twins escort you?"

She got up and left on her own, anger scrawled on her face, off to meet the wind.

**-x-**

She found the two of them there again, Mori and Haruhi, without rhyme or reason, sitting at her low dining table, a tea display set out before them as pretty and perfect as if it had been painted. There was no good reason, really, why he was permitted to keep her company, and the rest of Host Club wasn't. She had heard the wistful stories of the older girls about what the Host Club used to be, and she knew what it was presently, though a pretty imitation, was not it.

"Welcome back, Haku."

"I went to the Host Club after school today," she blurted out, visions of a pain-faced Tamaki dancing like imprints of bright lights in her eyes.

"Oh?" Haruhi said, turning her head away to refill her teacup.

"Yes. Tamaki said that I was imagining you up."

"Oh." A painful silence. "And the twins? How are they?"

"Good. Still a little . . . non-communicative."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Haruhi said, her voice soft. "I would like to visit them all, but it would only make things worse."

"Better, and even more so if you applied for another year as a scholarship student," Mori said quietly.

"No, thank you," Haruhi said, with a little laugh. "We've spoken about this before, Mori. You know why I can't go back."

"I know why you _think_ you can't go back."

"No, Mori, for the last time, no!" Haruhi snapped, and frowned. "I've managed to make everything better at Ourin, and going back to that . . . _Academy_ . . . won't help anything."

"It will help _them_."

"You think it will, but it _won't_,"Haruhi fired back. "In the short term, they'll love to see me, beg me to come back permanently, and of course I'll agree, after a while, but then everything will go back to the way it was, and I can't do that to them. To me. Especially when everything was getting better."

"Worse," he argued back in his cool, collected monotone. "Didn't you hear Haku? The twins are retreating back into themselves, because you're gone."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Haruhi said, her voice rising in pitch.

"You were the only one to tell them apart. They miss you, Haruhi, and I'm sure Tamaki does too."

Haruhi's frown contorted her face like a painful thing, and she looked straight into Mori's eyes as she spoke.

"I'm not going back. Why are you trying to force me into doing this?"

"Because it's unhealthy. You know you love them like a second family. You're hurting yourself and others."

"I'm just not going back," she said, her face set. "We've been over this before, Mori, and you've never objected."

"That's because we assumed everything at the Club was the same. Haku has just verified things. They're worse. You should at least visit them, Haruhi."

"I can't, Mori, no matter what it does to the rest of the Host Club. And I would think you of all people would understand that."

Mori didn't say anything, and Haku stared at them dumbly. She had just witnessed the most fascinating argument she'd ever heard of, and that included wildly inaccurate gossip. She hated the fact that Haruhi was glaring, Haruhi, who she had only known for one day yet had come across as cool, temperate, kind, had fired back with fervor. She hated that Mori, who from all the stories she'd heard was kind, standoffish, never needlessly confrontational, had just started an argument with Haruhi that had obviously been run over several times.

Mori stood. He looked down at Haruhi with his cold, dark eyes, and his voice was expressionless when he went on.

"What _I_ think, Haruhi, and what _I've_ thought, is that you are many things, but cruel and selfish were never one of them."

And he walked right out of her apartment.

There was a beat of complete and total silence, and then Haruhi wilted visibly. Her shoulder slumped, head drooped, arms dropped limply to the matted floor. Haku reached over automatically, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry, Haruhi. Mori doesn't strike me as the type to never let go of this kind of thing. You can apologize later, and he'll forgive you. I'm sure of it. He just went home to collect his thoughts. I've heard of Mori, and I'm pretty sure he isn't usually that stimulated." She managed a nervous-sounding laugh.

"That's not the problem," Haruhi said softly. "He didn't go home, because he lives _here_. My dad left . . . a few months ago, and he's been staying with me . . . Who knows where he's going? What if he doesn't come back?"

Haku didn't reply, just flipped open her cell phone, calling her driver.

"You can go home. Tell my mother I'm sleeping over at a friends' house. She can call my cell phone if she freaks out."

**-x-**

Mori didn't like to speak, and he thought he never would.

But then, things had changed drastically since he had come to Haruhi's door.

She had him talking. Whole sentences, conversations, jokes, he spoke and spoke until his throat felt strange—dry. She had him chatting away, and in a way he almost missed his quiet, unfathomable qualities, because it was that one sentence full of loaded words that set her off, and he was pulled along. She had him talking, and she talked back.

It was only the one thing that ever made that fuse begin to burn down, and her eyes spark, and made her fire back. And it was the only thing that he felt strong enough about to argue back. They'd had this confrontation a dozen times, and it was the only confrontation they ever had. He had spent the year without Haruhi, missing her. He knew how the Host Club felt, only Haruhi would have been separated by school and work at that time anyway. It was worse for them, because she, by all counts, should still be there at the Host Club, smiling, Hosting, putting up with the twins' schemes, eventually going out with Tamaki as was bound to happen—

Okay.

He'd admitted that he didn't like the last one so much.

**I know this whole Haku-thing is kind of out of the blue, but I hope you like it anyway. And I've got a lot of rooting for Mori getting in the game, and now he is. If you're going to ask why Haruhi hasn't been put in a foster home, it's because Mori is now a legal adult. He qualifies as a temporary caretaker. Heh heh. But certainly not a _father_, huh?**

**Review! Review! I give you two new chapters in two days, and I only get six reviews for it? I'll tack it down to you guys not having time to read, but I may have to call you some of those bad names if you don't keep up the loverly reviews.**

**-Love**

**Vacancy**


	11. Rain

A/N:** I think I probably SHOULD make this drama/romance . . . I should, really. But . . . I'm not. Because I'm your lufferly Vacancy, and I'm a lazy teenager. It's what I do best: nothing at all. :)**

Disclaimer:** I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. **

Chapter Eleven

_Rain_

Haruhi had always felt passionate about the rain.

Whether it instilled fear, wonder, loathing, discomfort—when the impregnated clouds let loose the torrents of rain held in for so long, her soul was pounded by the drops no matter where she was, and it when the rain let up, it was new, clean. When the thunder boomed and lightening crackled it's jagged-toothed smile, she jumped, slipped under the bed, breathed in the warm musty smell of sleep-sweat and the air freshener her father used.

She could almost forget the storm down here, convince herself the patter was a light spring rain, but one facet of these angry, roaring storms she could not escape. She gripped the crossbeams under the bed tightly when she was reminded of the thunder by it's angry, roaring voice, refusing to be forgotten, because what she felt was the worlds' last punishment for all her wrongdoings before it let her out, renewed, sinless.

Haruhi had never been pious, but she found religion in her fear.

**-x-**

Haku sat across from Tamaki, her fingers laced on her lap like a proper ladys' should, but her mouth was completely at odds with it, a slash of determination. Usually, she came to the Host Club to be wooed and pored over, but today, she was forced to set aside her longing for handsome attention long enough to achieve her goal.

"My Princess, we were separated in the midst of scintillating conversation when we last met . . . ah, was it last week?"

"Last Friday, yes. Were we?"

She sipped her tea, the file folder next to her on the comfortable seat pressing against her leg like a weight. But, always with a flair for the dramatic, Haku refused to give in and just whip out her treasure, preferring instead to manufacture a scene fit to star in a Hollywood Movie.

"We were, or so I think."

_"Now, now, Princess, let's not go chasing the wind."_

_"I know she's not the wind."_

"Just the weather, I believe," Haku said, turning her teacup handle very carefully to the right to align it with the gold stripe on the saucer. Tamaki stared at her for a moment, curious, before he got the joke and laughed carefully.

"You're more funny than they give you credit for, Haku."

"I'm given credit for very little, actually," she said.

"Oh, aren't you?"

"Not at all, Senpai."

Tamaki sat in silence for a moment, his face assessing hers. She faked disappointment.

"Why, Tamaki," she said, her voice cool. "I've yet to see you work any Host magic on me today. Should I be offended?"

"Oh, pardon me, my princess," he said looking out the windowpane. "My mind is far from easy."

"Pray tell," Haku said, lacing her fingers and resting her chin on them.

"I am missing a brother," Tamaki said, cupping his chin on his hand and meeting her eyes. "Who left my family last year and has yet to return."

Haku felt a lump in her throat.

"Oh," she said. The pictures weighed heavier on her lap. She didn't even know if she wanted to show them to Tamaki, now. Would it be cruel? "Well . . ."

Her throat felt dry. Suddenly throwing Haruhi's friendship in his face seemed like something needlessly rude and calculated, something she suddenly felt no desire to do.

"You know, Tamaki . . ."

"Yes, my Princess?"

". . . I really am sorry about all this talk of the weather. I promise not to trouble you with it any longer."

Tamaki's eyes were blank as he watched her face for a second.

". . . I understand," he said eventually. "Thank you."

His indigo eyes kept on digging deeper into hers, and they were bound to turn up something soon. She couldn't just sit there, lying to him, so she feigned remembrance of an appointment. Tamaki bid her a graceful goodbye, albeit a bemused one, and she stood up, almost jogging to the door in her haste to be away. She didn't cradle the manila folder in her hands as she left, something she didn't realize until later.

"Hel_lo_ . . ." Tamaki said, plucking up the file folder and flipping it open. "Princess left something . . ."

His stomach dropped to his knees.

Haruhi and Haku, making faces at the camera, sticking their tongues out as Haruhi cradled a bowl full of batter, her hair caught up in a handkerchief, standing next to Renge's personality double. There was a little smear of chocolate on her pert little nose, one of her eyes squeezed half-shut in a mockery of a wink, caught by a camera flash.

A thick pillar of smoke rose from a pot of simmering chocolate behind them.

**-x-**

Clink, clink, swish.

"Mori should be back soon, Haku will be over after school, I'd bet . . ."

Clink, clink, swish.

"And Arai is coming over, too . . . won't he be surprised to see the two of them . . ."

Clink, clink, swish.

"And . . . he sent over . . . that basket . . ."

Clink, clink, swish.

"So I'll reuse that carousel and set out some of those sweets."

Clack, clack, clack.

Haruhi surveyed the tea tray, the three cups set out on the delicate china that Mori had insisted upon buying for her when he dropped a stack of mismatched teacups and glasses. She turned around, facing the wicker basket he had brought. The cellophane reflected the harsh florescent light in the kitchen, making her squint, obscuring the elaborate gift.

His card lay on the table where she had read it for the first time, a good week ago ago.

_Sorry for leaving. I'll come back tomorrow, have business to attend to. Don't answer door if I'm not welcome._

For some reason, she hadn't thrown it away.

Haku had been over every day since, and once Mori had returned, bearing a suitcase and a laptop with which to connect to his various business attachments, and, of course, the basket of sweets ("Mitsukuni insisted" was his only explanation) which now sat on her table, and the door was left wide open, and he was very welcome. The tea trio, as Haku had taken to jokingly calling them, had been reinstated, and any tenseness in the room was dispelled after the first awkward day, leaving a sense of harmony.

Haruhi picked up her teacup and sipped it distractedly. He had left that morning, promising to be home by teatime, which made her slightly nervous, but she brushed the feeling away. She had found a strange pleasure in the sound effects formed by setting down saucers and teacups, and pouring out the tea. Clink, clink, _swish_. It was the preparation of the tea that she found soothing, not the hot liquid itself.

She glanced at the clock. Haku would be knocking smartly on her door in a moment, panting and dressed in her Ouran uniform from running from her car in her haste to be the first one there. Mori would arrive, soon, as well; and Arai had promised her that he would be right over after he checked in with his ailing grandmother at the hospital to make sure she was contented. Her heart softened at the thought. He was so selfless. Just like Tamaki, just like—

_Knock, knock._

"Come in, Haku," she said loudly, and picked up the tray. She sauntered into the living room, setting down the tray. "I'm finally using those sweets in the basket. I know you've been longing for them . . ." she chatted away with Haku, who was surely in the room by now. Only there was a problem.

There was no dark-haired girl silhouetted in the afternoon sunlight, obscured slightly by cottony clouds.

Haruhi frowned.

"Haku, I said you could come in!" she called, wiping her hands on her long shorts absently as she set out the plates.

"Who's Haku?"

Haruhi dropped a plate.

The voice had been muffled by a door and wall, and the months that had passed between them, but she recognized it easily. She knew what facial expression he would wear as he glanced back at his mirror image, and she was struck by the urge to hide underneath her bed like a kid, like she did during storms. Instead, she reached around for a broom, and started sweeping up the shards of plate with careful, long strokes.

"Haruhi?"

Haruhi dropped the broom.

"Takashi?"

"Oh, she responds to you?"

"Haruhi, I'm going to unlock the door."

Haruhi dropped to a sitting position on the floor, feeling nauseated. Should've made the connection between the twins and Mori's promise to return. Shouldn't have given him a goddamn key.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Six eager faces, poring down upon her.

"Haruhi . . ." His voice came first, soft and familiar. "Haruhi, Haruhi . . ."

He smelled of vanilla and was warm, embracing her.

"Tamaki . . ." Her words were a whisper, and maybe a prelude to tears or screams or anger, but he couldn't know, because then she just shut her eyes and breathed in his sweet scent of vanilla and rain.

"Haruhi . . ." he said again, burying his face in her chocolate brown hair.

"Get off of me, Senpai," Haruhi said, and though her words were hard, her tone was gentle. Tamaki, unreasonably surprised, pulled back. Haruhi stood, trying to get over the fact that Hikaru and Kaoru were staring at her hungrily, and Kyoya with something like disgust. She looked Mori straight in the eye, and said, her tone cold,

"You have ruined everything for me."

She turned and stalked into her bedroom just as thunder crackled overhead.

**-x-**

_BOOM._

"Mori, you don't understand, I have to be in there with her!" Tamaki said desperately, trying to slip past the gentle giant, into the room beyond. Hikaru stood behind him, nodding vehemently.

"Please, Mori, you don't understand. We need to be in there. She needs us."

_Crackle, BOOM._

"I know why you think you need to be in there," Mori said, his voice nowhere near as deep as the thunders grumble, though it was something of an accurate comparison. "But it will not help her to have you in there now."

"It will, it will!" Tamaki said, shaking his head. "She forgave me when I approached her . . . like _this_ . . . before."

"It will not work like that, Suou," Mori said somberly. "She has made a decision regarding you. I should have respected that. But I did not, and she will not listen even to me."

Tamaki and Hikaru exchanged glances. Just how well had Mori and Haruhi been getting along in their absence—or rather, hers?

"No, Mori, I just—won't you let me try?"

He didn't say anything, his slow, deliberate gaze trained on his face. "Are you even looking to comfort her?"

"What?" Tamaki asked, frowning.

"Or are you just looking for forgiveness, to get a way in through her fears?"

Tamaki stared at him for a second, slack jawed.

"Of course not," he said after a second, but he withdrew.

"Where is Ranka, anyway?" Kaoru asked from his place beside his brother, bewildered but defiant.

"Ryoji has, unfortunately . . . gone missing. He left."

"Is that why you had a key?" Tamaki said, having recovered from the blow Mori had dealt, the truth dawning on him. "You're looking after her?"

He did not reply, and Tamaki drew all the answers he needed from that.

The door slammed open, and a soaked Haku barreled inside, tugging a bewildered, short-haired boy along with her. The entire Host Club turned and stared at them, largely because Haku was wearing a long, fancy dress, and Arai his school uniform.

"Oh! Tamaki . . . what are you doing here?"

Her surprise colored her face.

"Losing Haruhi again," he said, watching the silhouettes behind the paper door as lightening grinned and thunder boomed.

And Mori closed his eyes, and Mori grimaced.

**-x-**

**Two Days Previously**

The Host Club had been ended early, much to the irritation of the clients, who made their way out of the Third Music Room haughtily as cats. None of the Hosts noticed, or cared, they were all crawling over Tamaki, begging to know what he would not share.

"What is it, Tono?" Hikaru and Kaoru asked as one, sure that they would get a reply. Generally, they were the most esteemed Hosts in Tamaki's mind, because they had been there first, along with Kyoya, who fell just below as far as bringing in clientèle.

"It's . . ." Tamaki held the folder gingerly, like it was a bomb. "Here." He shoved the folder at Kaoru. "You open it."

"All right," he said, scrutinizing Tamaki suspiciously before flipping it open. He sucked in his breath, and his twin, who had been looking over his shoulder, did the same.

"Who is that?" One of the Junior Hosts, as they had been dubbed, popped up, peering at Haruhi."She's pretty."

"She's beautiful," Hikaru said, not sure of what to make of the pictures.

Haruhi, sitting cross-legged at a short table.

Haruhi and Haku, playing Patty-cake, Haruhi's face split in laughter.

Haruhi and Mori, sitting side by side in front of her small television.

Mori, eating a sweet with almost laughable seriousness at Haruhi's table.

Haruhi, sitting on a swing, her feet just barely brushing the ground, wearing a skirt and blouse school uniform.

Haruhi, asleep on the couch at her house, Mori letting a blanket flutter down around her sleeping shoulders.

**Sorry this update took so long—pretty short, too! But like I said, I'm pretty bust lately. / Sorry!**

**Vacancy**


	12. Level Up

A/N: **Hey! Sorry this update took so long! I warned you (didn't I?)! I'm going to do just the tiniest bit of endorsement here, but the website really is amazing. Since FanFiction has yet to allow links, take the words and parenthesis and replace them with the obvious punctuation:**

**www(dot)onemanga(dot)com **

**Select Ouran High School Host Club, and whoop de do! I read some of the volumes that aren't available in America yet, which is why sometimes my stuff might confuse you. But, still! You love me, non?**

**And this is my first lemon. XD Take pity on me. There are all these stories that are really nothing but porn, and I'm not going to go into much detail, but I hope you find this sweet, and not tasteless.**

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, no.

Chapter Twelve

_Level Up_

Hikaru's hand ghosted over his breast pocket on his shirt, skipping over it as nervously as a moth to a light bulb. He knew which picture was in there, which one he'd stolen from the stack in the portfolio, Haruhi, bent over a textbook, lost in contemplation. And Mori, just a shoulder in the frame of the picture, in the traditional place of caretakers: just outside of their sight, but close enough to avert crisis.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what Mori and Haruhi's relationship had become: he liked her, but she was too naïve to realize it, and all the subtle hints in the world wouldn't change a thing.

"Tamaki," he said, reaching out and placing a hand upon the shoulder of his red-faced friend. "Calm down. Why don't we have some tea?"

"Tea?" he asked incredulously. "How can you even think of having tea at a time like this?"

"Mori is right," he said rigidly. He felt Kaoru place a hand on his free one, and shook it loose. He didn't know what his brother was trying to communicate—peace, warning—and he didn't particularly care, for once. "Let's just have some tea."

Tamaki took a deep breath, and his chest rose, and then fell dramatically as he let the air whistle through his teeth.

"All right," he allowed. "We'll have tea."

It was the first time that Tamaki had allowed himself to be persuaded to take one option over Haruhi, and it was the first time that Hikaru had not only taken Tamaki out of the picture, but himself as well. And in a way, it was the beginning of the end.

**-x-**

She heard their voices. Didn't care. She took deep breaths and pressed her forehead to the wooden crossbars under the bed, and listened to the sound of her punishment. Their voices and her thunder. A duo from hell that was making her heart rip.

They left after a while, and she heard him outside, cleaning up the mess that they had surely made in this ramshackle reunion. Haku and Arai, speaking softly, lingering, seemed to have hit it off. Gladness for her pretty friend swelled in her. She liked Arai well enough, and she could rest easier with the notion that he had feelings for Haku.

Crack, boom.

She pressed her face into the floor, the old, smooth wood hard and unforgiving against her pert nose. The pain alleviated the fear somewhat, and if she could summon up the hurt and grief she still writhed with from leaving them; she could block out the thunder. She also gained some closure from this, to go with her stony decision. Therapy for the Twisted, she called it in her mind.

She heard Arai and Haku bid their goodbyes, and exit the apartment together. Good for them. She heard Arai telling a joke and Haku's pretty, tinkling laughter.

Crack, boom.

Haruhi pressed a hand to her heart, begging it to slow down.

A pot clinked, and fell silent.

She marveled at his culinary and domestic skills. She had expected, like so many of the other Host Club members (or Ouran attendees, for that matter); he would be hopeless in the kitchen. But he prepared simple meals well, swept the floors, scooped her out some ice cream when she fell onto the couch, sick with worry over her father. He was invaluable as a companion and a helper, and she didn't know what, at this point in her life, what she would do without him.

She heard the sliding door of her bedroom open with that long, rough sigh, and turned her head away from the slat of light falling heavy as a brick on the floor. She heard his feet move towards her, and concentrated on the sound of them—_tmp, tmp, tmp_. It wasn't like he'd look down here for her. If she was hiding, he should know that she didn't want to be found.

She traced over a crayon scrawl she'd marked in the wall when she was young. It's a squiggle that reminds her of a face, a lumpy oval with two swirls in the top center. Red, blue, and yellow. Her mother and father never knew it was there, and she hadn't been inclined to tell them.

He had stopped advancing now, and the long shadow of his calf stretched over her back, where she hid, where no light was supposed to permeate. And she heard the rustle of his clothes as he sat down next to her bed—she turned her head slightly, very ready to tell him to go away, before he lay down completely and slid down with her.

"Haruhi, do you mind?"

He asked this like he was sitting down next to her at a table, pouring himself some tea, or taking her coat. It wasn't as if he had moved underneath a bed while a girl, wracked with fear, lay below, unwilling to cry for help. And she wanted to say 'Yes, I do. Leave.'

"Of course not," she mumbled instead, and stiffened as his hand lifted her head and slid around her shoulders, bringing her to him.

"You should have told me you didn't like storms, Haruhi."

"You seem to know well enough," she said in the only imitation she knew of indignation at this point.

"It became obvious. I didn't want to trouble you with asking as I thought you didn't want my comfort on this."

"I didn't and I don't."

Crack, boom.

Unconsciously, she clutched his shirt, scooting closer to him in the stifling dark, and he loosened the digits with a small smile, and she scowled hopelessly, wanting him to stay for comfort and wanting him to leave her to her embarrassing episode alone.

"It seemed as if you might need the help, tonight."

Despite herself, she liked the way that sounded, and she liked what the words clicked together to mean. He knew her well enough, he knew that only tonight would she accept his presence, because she was cracking just like she had cracked that night with Kyoya.

She recalled her priorities—college, job, money, happiness—and the careful red X she had marked over romance. To be hurt, she had always theorized, was the to be broken. To allow oneself to be shattered by pain and trust unwittingly placed was to be a fool. But she had never seen a rock sturdier than Takashi Morinozuka, who would never hurt her—

Crack, boom.

"The storm is moving farther away," he murmured, not needing to be any louder as her head was tucked into the crook of his neck. "It will be over soon."

"Thank you," she whispered, and couldn't believe she was using the words.

"Of course, Haruhi. You can expect only five or ten more minutes of thunder, all right?"

"Righ-"

Crack, boom.

She pressed her face harder into his collarbone, and with one loud, roomwide whine, the electricity gave.

Bathed in darkness, Haruhi opened her eyes, narrowed them, striving to see by the weak moonlight filtering in through shaded windows, and from clouds above.

"That's unusual," she said, moving her face away from his warmth and craning towards beyond the bed, where bluish light gave a vague illumination, the presence of the mistress moon everlasting even when eclipsed by her emotionless electronic relatives. "We don't usually have the power going out."

"We never do," Mori commented, and she started, the sound came from just below her cheek. Her craning left her embarrassingly close to Mori's face.

"Oh," she said, slithering back into position, bracing for more thunder.

"This might be the last few," he assured her, his voice low, comforting.

Crack, boom.

She shut her eyes.

Crack, boom.

More distant now, the thunder seemed to bid it's reluctant goodbye, reveling in it's starring role in her nightmares. She exhaled, her body relaxing.

"I'm sorry for that," she said, and blushed slightly.

"Don't be," he said, and again, she found his mouth very close to her ear, but she didn't react. It was pleasant, though a little irritating she couldn't see to gage his reaction.

CRACK, BOOM.

Louder and more thunderous than ever, the sound of the sky's wrath made her start and shuffle away from outside, where she could hear it better, turning her face away and was met with something soft and pleasant—

She had knocked the left side of her mouth into Mori's, and as she slid down further in an effort to get as far from the loudness as possible, before she realized what she was experiencing, her mouth was full on Mori's and she found it was a very, very pleasant feeling that was sending shivers down her spine.

She jerked away, only slightly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she said, her breath a torrent of air and very few sound waves. "I didn't—"

But, seeming to enjoy the feeling as well and not half so willing to let it go, Mori had leaned forward that quarter inch that it took to reconnect their mouths, and the arm still around her shoulders curled, pulling her onto her side and closer to him. And she didn't try to squirm away, because Mori was a rock, Mori was an island, and Mori was making her stomach twist up.

She let her mouth slide open just the tiniest bit, and he followed suit. Though he was perfectly comfortable laying on the ground, swapping spit with Haruhi, she found it awkward to bend her head at that angle, and pulled her torso up over his to achieve a more comfortable kiss.

Mori pulled her closer and she didn't object, her tongue now tentatively poking at the inside of his mouth, which made him chuckle against her lips and return the gesture, albeit a bit more gracefully and expertly, for that matter, which made her wonder where the floating feelings of boundless happiness that all the romance books mentioned began. Or maybe it never did and that, like so much else included in romance pulp fiction is fabricated.

Haruhi twisted her hands through his hair, admiring how soft and silken it was. She had expected it to be brittle, as it never seemed to sway in the wind or become frizzy.

She pressed her mouth closer and felt something touching the back of her head tentatively—his hand. She laughed in spite of herself at the ridiculousness of being tentative at this point about something to innocent as touching the back of one's head.

Happiness, though not boundless, was alleviating the depression she sometimes experienced lately, making her smile slightly druggedly. He was cupping her close, and unwittingly, one of her hands traveled up his stomach, under the thin, cool cloth of his t-shirt.

And he had reacted in a second, snatching her hand and pulling away.

"No, Haruhi."

"Mori!" she said, with the absence of his lips realizing the depth of what she had just done. "I—I—"

"No matter how you feel tonight, or how I do," he continued in his monotone. "I do not want you to do anything you will regret in the morning."

"But . . . but we were just kissing! Why didn't you stop me then?"

"Because," he glanced away. "Because I let myself go for too long, and I apologize."

"I . . . what makes you think I'll regret it?"

He looked startled. "What?"

"What makes you think I'll regret, er, kissing you?"

"With all due respect," he rumbled. "I doubt kissing was your only intention at that point."

"With all due respect," she returned, emboldened by excitement and the remaining dregs of fear; "I won't regret anything unless you do."

He was silent a moment.

"I won't."

They just lay there, looking at each other challengingly, until the thunder boomed again and prompted Haruhi to go forward and reengage his lips.

It was amazing how quickly hands seemed to move. What she had always been told classified as a 'Bad Touch' seemed nothing less than wonderful as swatches of clothing fluttered down underneath the bed and they were forced to move on top. Lips were everywhere, revealing things she had never felt before as they let themselves surrender to animal instinct. It was like being allowed new items in a video game. Feeling unlocked.

There was a time when it hurt; but he gripped the muscles on his back and it soon dissolved into pleasure that had her moaning and gasping in time to his sounds of satisfaction. They didn't stray far from the conventional, but even then it seemed satisfying enough.

When she reached the top of the crest that they had been climbing together, the thunder boomed again, amplifying her pleasure with fear, and he pulled himself out and lay next to her silently, and she hoped to God he wasn't dwelling over how large a mistake he had just made.

"You underestimated the thunder," she whispered, somewhat short of breath, almost fearing his response.

"I'm glad I did," he returned, smiling at her. A sort of happiness bloomed in her chest, cheerful and warm, and they spoke no more.

As she slipped to sleep in the utter black of a power outage, she watched his carved beautiful face, whose eyes were growing misty with fatigue, and suddenly knew what the word sated meant.

Experience unlocked.

There was a soreness between her legs, but the memory of what had caused it made her shiver and made her smile. She regretted nothing, and now she was a woman of carnal knowledge, no longer to be shunted out of conversations in which she was uninformed. She felt older, suddenly, too old for her handful of years. But now, maybe, she had someone to experience it with, to hold her up, and she found the piece of love she had been missing when she had made her analysis, the variable that had been hidden. To feel such intense sadness at their passing, one must have felt such intense happiness during their time, and the best one could do was cross their fingers and hope for the best.

Level up

**Do you like my running analogy? I do. I think it's nice. xD I just realized, this is not only my first lemon but my first in-depth look at a physical relationship even in something so innocent as kissing. Huh.**

**I also have a chapter half-written for Tarnished Picture Frames. Be sure to read that if you liked Your Silence. Not that I'm saying it's over. There's still closure to be gained and a nice pretty happy-ending epilogue to type up. OH, and we've got to find Ranka xD I kind of forgot about him. I kind of convenience-killed him, only I didn't kill him. Just shooed him off for a while to get in some bar fights or something.**

**Lotsa Lufflies!**

**Vacancy**


	13. A Plan Fit For Tamaki

A/N: **So, here it is. Another chapter. I'm so sorry, I've been AWFUL with updates lately. -.-; But my summer is really busy, and I'm gone all through June. So you're next update prolly won't swing around till August, but review anyway! Leave ideas, leave criticism, I take all kinds.**

**The Hikaru-Kaoru thing just kind of sprung on me, so I put it in there. Doesn't really do anything but show how ticked they are that Haruhi left. ;D Hope you like it anyway.**

Disclaimer: _Own anything I do not._

Chapter Thirteen

_A Plan Fit For Tamaki_

The warm air of spring on the evanescence of summer ruffled her hair and her clothes somewhat as Haruhi strolled down the sun-dappled road, shaded by large, many-leaved trees. She had decided to take the scenic route home instead of trudging through the gloomy streets of the more direct path. Mori would be slightly perturbed, but she had had enough ugliness that day.

She'd never tell, but the bullying had intensified. Her dislike of feminine things and blatant disregard for romance had gotten her pegged for a homosexual, something Haruhi didn't let bother her much, though the nastier kids and spurned hopefuls had taken to spreading rumors. She was too universally well-liked to have these taken too seriously by her classmates, but sometimes she had to suppress the embarrassing urge to inform them of her relationship with an older, handsome man. But as was her way, she kept quiet and, apparently, single.

In any case, it was with only minor annoyance that she strolled down the street, her books held tightly to her chest with her arms, two clips holding her hair back from her eyes. The skirt of her uniform swayed with her as she walked, and she looked the epitome of feminine serenity, smiling almost completely vacantly as she walked down the street.

**-x-**

"So now let's play ... the which one is Hikaru game!"

They preformed the easy two-as-one routine with the same fluidity as always, smirking in identically cocky manners as they pulled their hats down over their sometimes telltale hair parts. But Hikarus eyes followed an empty spot in air, a ghost of the girl who had walked by and named them so casually. He was in another time, another game, a happier day, at least for that moment.

"Ohhh . . . I don't know . . . "

"You're so alike!"

"Oooh . . . is it the twin on the left?"

Kaoru, standing at the left, grinned widely.

"Correct, my Princess!" He leaned forward and smiled even wider. "And do you know what the prize is for guessing correctly?"

His breath, scented with mint, was ruffling a curl in the girls' hair, who blushed furiously. His lips were a few radioactive inches from her own.

"I . . . ah . . . no . . . I . . ."

"A rose!" Kaoru crowed, plucking a fine red rose from a nearby vase. "For you, my lovely Princess, for guessing correctly which one is Hikaru."

Hikaru turned away, and once his face was turned from the girls, allowed it to dissolve into a deeply etched glare. He was angry at Haruhi for leaving, for not staying there to tell them apart any longer, angry at Kaoru for pretending that the girl knew anything about them and could tell one from the other, angry at Tamaki for dumping his clients on them while he argued with someone over the phone.

"Kaoru?" his twin asked softly, touching his shoulder, calling him the wrong name.

Hikaru turned with wide eyes and trembling lips. His Kaoru act was easily done, his brothers easy emotional nature wasn't so hard to replicate. Kaoru, turned towards Hikaru, let a sardonic smile flit across his lips where the clients couldn't see it.

"Of course, Hikaru . . . I cannot stand it when you give your attentions to anyone but me."

He immediately found himself cradled in his brothers arms, and gave himself up for a second to the simple pleasure of being held, to not having to be a big bad adult anymore, safe in his twin brothers arms.

But of course it was an act, and Kaoru was only doing it so that the girls could squeal happily.

"I always look to you, Kaoru. Always."

"Hikaru . . ."

But as the wrong twins looked at each other with such practiced tenderness, there was a glint of steel in their warm eyes that had never been there before.

**-x-**

"No! Well . . . yeah . . . Mori, c'mon, please."

Kyoya glanced over at Tamaki with a vague, disinterested air, and the blond boy waved him off, a gesture of flat dismissal. Kyoya, inhaling deeply to cool his temper, sighed and returned to his laptop screen.

"Haruhi doesn't want to see you," Mori rumbled. "I think it unwise to try to replicate last months' situation. Give her time."

"I've given her a year!" Tamaki exploded into the phone. He worried distractedly that it would snap clean in two, it was slim and fragile-looking, but he brushed the thought aside. "A year, Mori! How much longer will it take for her to come to terms with the fact that we all love her?"

"I think a little longer, knowing Haruhi," he said, and if Tamaki had not thought he knew better, he would have sworn a note of strain entered his controlled voice when Tamaki said he loved her.

"I mean like a sister," he said, dropping his voice desperately. "A daughter. Please, Mori, won't you just tell her I called?"

"I did last week, and do you remember what happened?"

Tamaki went a little cross eyed with agitation.

"She changed the phone number."

"Exactly."

**-x-**

"Haku!" Haruhi called out cheerfully, much more well-disposed after the scenic walk home. The light-haired girl turned, and grinned widely.

"Nice uniform."

"I don't think so," Haruhi said, a note of glumness entering her voice. "Did you lose your key?"

Honestly, it was like Haku lived there nowadays. Not that Haruhi minded. She liked her company and her stories and the look Arai got in his eyes when he entered a room and she was there too.

"No," Haku lied defensively. "Of course not, why would you think that?"

"I don't know," Haruhi said with a tiny smile.

She unlocked the door easily and called out a general greeting "Hello?" if Mori was hiding in one of the other rooms. His answering grunt came from the kitchen, where he was seated at the table with his laptop.

"Hey," Haku said easily, perching herself on a seat as Haruhi set about to make tea. Mori grunted again, but gave the tiniest of smiles to Haruhi, who grinned back in a considerably more obvious manner. Haku looked away.

Of course they hadn't told her—they probably wouldn't tell anyone unless they were getting married or eloping to America—but she could read the signs, and she was pleased, if not a little put out that her theory that all men were in love with her wasn't correct.

"I went to the law office again today," Mori said, typing out an e-mail to a business affiliate with laboriously slow taps.

"Oh?" Haruhi said, a note of tightness in her voice, like nervousness. "What did they say?"

"That you were too young to be living on your own and that you had to have an adult living with you."

"You're living with me," Haruhi said with vague releif. "And my next of kin, my grandparents, are unfit to take care of a minor. You know we looked into that."

"We did," Mori agreed. "And my lawyer is appealing to them. But . . ."

"But . . . ?" Haruhi parroted. Haku was looking at Mori with interest, absorbed in this the most real of drama.

"But I'm not a legal guardian," he finished gravely, stopping his typing to look at her. "And you still have another year left of school before you can live on your own. So . . . either I enter into the foster system and take you in." Haruhi looked a little green. "Or I adopt you." Haruhi went from green to white in a second. "Or I give you to someone else."

"I don't like any of those options," she said in a despairing voice. Mori shook his head.

"Mitsukuni had an idea."

"Which was?"

"He thought he could take you in as a foster child." Haruhi spluttered. "And when your father is found we give you back into his care."

Haku gave a little gasp, and Haruhi looked pensive, in a nauseous way (a difficult feat, but she managed).

"That . . . " she said eventually. "Is a plan fit for Tamaki."

**I know it's kind of short, but I'm short on time. Take what you can, right? This is all I came up with at the moment, and I was happy with any kind of plot ideas at all. XD I won't lie, I'm kind of losing steam with this fic. LEAVE REVIEWS. I love that you favorite me and alert me, but it's nothing if I don't get a review. It's like being watched in a two way mirror: I know you're there, but I can't see you. I want feedback!**

**Love,**

**Vacancy**


	14. Legal Paper and Mansions

A/N: **Okay. I lied. I had nothing to do today, so I wrote this up in something of a frenzy. I like it, myself. I feel like I could have added another part to it, but I frankly don't have time. I know it's kind of short-ish, but with therapy you might forgive me. I'll see you all next month, and I give you cookies for reading/loving/reviewing. **

Disclaimer: Obviously, not.

Chapter Fourteen

_Legal Paper and Mansions_

The car was deathly quiet, and Haruhi felt like she was riding to her death. Mori sat impassively opposite her, his gaze fastened on her. Not that she didn't like it much, it was just that she never knew what he was thinking—_I made such a mistake_ looked exactly like _I'm so happy to be with her. _

Her things were in a car behind them, a small moving truch she felt was completely unnecessary. She didn't have that much, and her belongings occupied a small corner of the truck's covered bed.

The limousine they were riding in was made for comfort, and it supplied. There was a mini-fridge and a small bar, the crystal bottles chattering to each other as the car glided down the road; and the soft leather seats were plush and comfortable. Mori glanced out the window.

"We'll be arriving at Mitsukuni's residence soon," he rumbled, and Haruhi smiled somewhat weakly.

Mori had promised to visit often, but the lack of him was odd—she was used to having someone older than her around, be it the careful, tentative presence of Mori, or the paternal, misled aura put out by her irresponsible father, Ryoji. The guilt for keeping Mori from his business nearly pulled her under, but apparently his empire was soundly afloat and he needed only to reorganize everything to his specifications, and she comforted herself with the fact that that was the worst of what she had done.

"I'll miss not—not having you around," she said, struggling with the syllables but feeling that it had to be said. His mockery of a smile twitched at the edges of his lips, and he nodded impassively. Haruhi, despite all her façades and disguises, was a heavily emotional person with strong beliefs, and sometimes she despaired at this non communication.

Flickers of a past life with emotions running high, proclamations abound, and no secrets crossed her mind, and she reassured herself that Mori would miss her, inwardly.

The limo took a sharp turn, and Mori looked out the window again.

"We're here."

**-x-**

Hunny's house, unlike the classical style of the Hitachiin mansion and Suou mansion No. Two, was modern and beautiful, all cut glass and color. The gardens that surrounded the semicircular drive were fragrant and bright, and there were elaborate gates at either end of the curved gravel drive, and a long, low wall ran around the entire grounds, punched through with cloudy windows of seaglass, which threw blue and green shadows onto the bright green grass. Maids were marching out of the house, butlers were lifting her meager suitcases out of the truck and bringing them inside faster than she could blink. Overwhelmed was, well, an understatement.

Mori got out of the car and stretched, and she caught some of the maids glancing meaningfully at him and then at each other, and words passed behind hands that made it obvious secrets were being shared. A redness started to burn under her cheeks, but it was quelled by Mori's glance at her and his worried expression, like he feared she wouldn't like the beautiful mansion.

"Haru-chan! Takashi!"

Turning dazedly from the elaborate garden, towards the house, she saw Hunny bounding down the stairs in front of his face, and caught sight of little but his blond hair before she was pelted in the stomach.

Hunny's eyes sparkled when he looked up at her, but her eyes were drawn lower where they remained glued, incredulous.

"Haru-chan!" he exulted. "Haru, you're going to be my foster child!"

"Right," she said in a slightly strangled voice. She couldn't believe this. It was _Hunny_, after all. So what was up with this recent . . . development? It seemed gross and wrong on him, on his clean-cut face.

"Haru, what's wrong?" Hunny asked, somewhere between bewildered and concerned for her as she stared at the odd place.

"Your . . ." she gestured to the problem area. "Your . . ."

"Oh!" he said in his happy, light voice, his hand sliding over his chin while he laughed. "Right! I'm sorry, Haru, I forgot to shave this morning! I was so excited you were coming over I completely forgot!"

"You have . . . " What was the word? Stubble? On his face? Hunny's childish face? She still almost expected his parents to come out and give her instructions on how to take care of Hunny while they were out, and it seemed nearly absurd that he would be taking care of her, and that he was capable of growing stubble.

"He is able to grow a beard, Haruhi," Mori rumbled, and she glared at him, but sparingly, as she was being hugged by Hunny so fiercely, and really, she didn't mind. She had missed him so much. She had missed all of them so much, really, but she didn't want to break them all apart. Best to just cut herself out quickly, leaving them with their friendships.

"I know but . . ." she looked at his face again. Hunny, who she had thought had stolen a high school uniform when she first saw him, from the elementary school, with gold-white hair sparkling perversely in the sunlight. "Ah, well."

"I feel old, Haru-chan," the oldest child she knew informed her with the air of a person who has forgotten something they felt should make them sad, like a person smiling at an acquaintances funeral.

"Hunny, you're nineteen," she said, trying to comfort.

"That's not it," the tiny blond said glumly, tears leaking from the edges of his eyes—Haruhi was alarmed, but not unduly, Hunny needlessly wept quite often. "My uncle is g-going to pass away soon."

"I'm so sorry," she said, bewildered by what this had to do with this feeling of elderliness.

"His uncle holds the empire," Mori said in his careful monotone, and rested a giant hand of Hunny's head. "He's leaving it to him. He'll have to manage the dojos."

"But you'll have help, won't you?" Haruhi asked, desperately trying to comfort him and erase the sad sight of a crying child—or what looked to be a child.

"Why don't you show Haruhi where she's to live, Hunny?" Mori said helpfully, and the tiny character snapped back into the cheerfulness.

"Oooh! Did I tell you, Haru-chan, you'll be living here for a year--" Haruhi flinched slightly. Wouldn't her father turn up by then? "So I set you up in a room and bought you lots of things."

Haruhi winced. He had bought her lots of . . . things, had he? She could envision them—sparkling necklaces and silk clothing, trinkets and furniture and other things that would take her years and years of hard work to even think of buying, merely chump change to the boy.

"This entire house is mine," Hunny said, seemingly somewhat troubled by this. "It's so empty, and I have nothing to do all day because I have no business and I have no school. But now I have you! It will be so much fun!"

"The paperwork is taken care of," Mori intoned over her shoulder. "And you'd do well not to make him ground you, Haruhi."

Mouth half-open at the amusement with which these last words were spoken, Haruhi gaped at him. Had she really been softening him up as much as she had allowed herself to fancy she had?

"I'll visit often," he said, and Haruhi felt herself tingle slightly as Hunny looked at her with a renewed interest. Mori's eyes flickered, and he leaned down and pressed a hasty kiss to her lips before turning around and getting back into the limo, slamming the door.

Why was it that he always seemed angry after he kissed her?

Hunny's impassive face as they ascended the front steps to his house told her that Mori had taken care not to tell his charge who, while if told not to tell a secret would give his all to keep it . . .while he remembered.

"So," he said in a deceptively light tone. "You and Takashi."

It wasn't a question. Haruhi was studying the stairs, which while made of concrete, sparkled with the brilliance of quartz where the crystal had been mixed in. When she stopped on the top step, he paused next to the grand, glass doors that opened onto his luxurious foyer, slightly ajar, and glanced back at her, concerned, looking older than ten for once.

_So, you and Takashi._

". . . Something like that," she said, and followed him inside.

**-x-**

Haruhi was sitting on the floor in a daze.

Truth be told, she wasn't sure that she could touch anything else in the rooms (_Rooms!_ She thought inwardly, incredulously, _rooms! Plural!_) without an alarm going off, or her sullying it somehow. Nope, she felt perfectly safe here on this . . . carpet. Even that felt too nice for her.

The bed was huge. She was pretty sure that there wasn't a sheet category for the oddly shaped thing, a sort of semicicular wedge designed to fit into the acute angle of the vertices's of the wall (A/N: **too...much...math...jargon...for..summer...**). The rooms in Hunny's house were all modern and cold, completely at odds with his energetic character, and she found hers frankly bewildering. One of her walls was a window—the entire thing. It stretched from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. The sunlight steaming in highlighted all the sharp angles of her new room, all the stark colors. How strange. She would have pinned Hunny for classical.

And she had a walk-in closet, all to herself. There were three small closets in her closet, actually. Closets in her _closet_. She couldn't believe it.

If it had been anyone but Hunny, she would have been muttering her charming refrain of 'rich bastards', but Hunny wasn't trying to showcase his wealth, but anxiously welcome her, and she felt an affinity for the little Host more than any other students at Ouran. Except for Mori, of course. She just liked who used to be seniors—she really didn't have a title for them now, and she found that vexing.

Oh, and her bathroom. Not only did it have two separate facilities for bathing and showering, it also had a jacuzzi and a three sinks. Three! For a single person suite. Plus a shelf indented into the wall stacked with white, fluffy towels.

But she was kept from despairing over how she was spoiled for much longer in the form of Hunny bounding in, all smiles and dancing flowers.

"Haru, what are you doing on the floor?" he asked, puzzled.

"Um. Sitting," she stated the obvious.

"There are chairs for sitting, Haruhi." His voice implied he worried for her mental health.

"They're too nice."

This he got in an instant, and he giggled, an all-out, fifth-grader giggle.

"You're silly, Haru," Hunny said, but plopped down on the floor opposite—Haruhi was struck but the thought that maybe he preferred to sit this way too. "Mori gave me a list," he explained.

"A list."

He nodded vigorously.

"To be a good foster father, I have to make sure everything is okay." He stumbled a bit with the last part of his sentence, as if he didn't really believe it himself, and pulled a yellow, lined piece of paper clearly ripped from a legal pad and unfolded it.

Haruhi repressed the urge to smile. Mori was like the anxious parent, leaving Haruhi with an irresponsible babysitter, along with a list of instructions. She also reflected that this was the second time that day she'd made a babysitter comparison.

"Okay," he said. "School. You're going to Ourin, right?" He frowned, but she pretended not to notice.

"Yes."

"Well, I'm signing you up for Ou_ran_."

Haruhi spluttered.

"I'm sorry, what?"

Hunny looked pleased with himself.

"As your temporary legal guardian, it's my choice where you go to school, and I don't approve of Ourin. So you're going to back to Ouran and be happy again."

She wished it was as easy as he said it was. Go back, be happy, no strings attached. Breaking a friendship and breaking a heart didn't even come into the equation. Easy, like crayon scrawls on paper.

"Please don't, Hunny," she begged. He looked at her for a second.

"Fine," he said. "I don't like it when you're sad, Haru-chan."

"I don't like it when you're sad, either," she said, and he hugged her. No surprises on who initiated, but what did surprise him was what force she exerted when hugging him back.

They sat there for a while, awkwardly hugging each other, before relinquishing each other and laughing nervously.

But then Hunny went back to his legal paper, and either he had grown up a lot since she had seen him last, or there had always been some smart eighteen year old below, because they chatted and laughed and went over her list of instructions, and Haruhi saw Hunny in a new light, as a person and not a charge, and she thought, maybe, living with him wouldn't be so bad.

**Another short-ish chapter. Ah, well. You'll live. **

**I remind you that these chapters only came into being BECAUSE YOU REVIEWED. Without the feedback, I'm at a loss at what to write. It's odd, but it's true, and if you've ever posted a story, you know how infuriating it is when no one gives reviews. **

**& I have an idea as to what to do to persuade you to review. If you review with an alias/name you can be called by, after the final chapter I'll add one in which I'll write you into a romance scene with the Host of your choice. ;D I'll end up with a lot of pleas and it'll take a while to write up, but I'm going to do it because it seems like fun.**

**See you in August!**

**LoveloveLOVE**

**Vacancy**


	15. Astrology

A/N: **Hey! It's not August yet and I'm home! Yessss! Be happy you have an update, and I'm here ALL the rest of the summer. I think I'll try to wrap this up before school starts up again in late August because eager to be distracted by this fun-to-write story: I am not. I need to pull up my grades.  
PLEASE READ THIS! IF YOU DO NOT INFORM ME OF WHICH HOST YOU WANT A ROMANCE SCENE WITH, AND YOUR NAME (not necessarily your given one, just one to use to address you) SOON I WILL NOT BE ABLE TO WRITE YOU ONE. MY FREE TIME IS NOW, AND IF YOU WANT A FLUFF WITH A HOST, YOU GOTTA SEIZE THE MOMENT.**

Disclaimer: How could we have forgotten this -lovely- tradition ... not Bisco or anyone of importance.

Chapter Fourteen

_Astrology_

The house was large, modern, and entertaining.

Hunny wandered about with her, showing her his favorite rooms as the weekend hours ticked by and the decision at hand became more and more imminent, even though she thought it had already been made; Ouran, Ourin? Happiness or closure? The right or the wrong?

The meals were sumptuous, the furniture comfortable, the library extensive, the hired help friendly and at ease. Haruhi grew comfortable over the few days she spent there; as she was excused for a few days from school as legal papers were signed and Mitsukuni Haninozuka became her jubilant legal guardian.

**-x-**

"Mori?"

"Haruhi."  
"You came."

"I had some time."

She looked at him, grinning. It was hard to imagine she was happier now than she had ever been, what with her father missing and no friends, but Haku and Arai came over every day after school and did homework, sat outside in the steamy garden, explored the cavernous house. They found ways to busy themselves that always ended with laughter. Hunny was constantly thinking up new ways to entertain her, and now Mori had come over, completing the moment. It didn't really matter how long or why, just that he had come in the first place and liked her enough to do so.

She wished someone had a camera inside her head, so they could save her happiness on film, precise and yet grainy at the same time, nontarnishable like memory. She wished that they would hit the record button, so she could revisit this time and time again. As it was, she was stuck with the faulty Polaroid of memory as she regarded Mori, who looked highly ruffled from some unknown reason.

Said ex-Host, after staring at her mutely for a long second before fumbling in his pocket and coming up with a box; then proceeding to unceremoniously shove it at her.

"Here."

It was blue velvet, the expensive jewelry kind that flips open on tiny hinges. Golden filigree mapped out a company name along the side. It was pretty. The contents were probably substantially more beautiful.

She was terrified of opening it.

"My cousin helped me buy it," he mumbled. She caught the undertone, things he hadn't said. She'd gotten good at the language of the silent.

She also knew what cousin he wasn't naming out of tact, one who liked the idea of romance even though he had no clue as to what it was or how it felt.

"_Helped_ or _made_?"

He had no reply to that, and satisfied, she flipped it open, fear somewhat lessened. This didn't halt her reaction when she opened it and her jaw dropped clear out of her mouth.

"Mori . . ."

"It's not an engagement ring, is it?" Haku said, popping up behind her and making Haruhi emit a small scream of startled terror. Haku peered into the box and gave a coo of appreciation. "Bracelet. Very nice."

She lifted it out of the box, staring at the silver links, the charms that hung off of them, set with what she feared were real jewels, tiny and sparkling.

"What are the charms?" Haku asked curiously.

"Astrological signs," Haruhi said, somewhat puzzled. She'd never expressed any particular interest in astrology or the signs, had she? She couldn't place why he'd buy her this or why Hunny would want her to have it . . . "But not all of them."

Five silver charms hung from the links, refracting the light almost sickeningly prettily.

"Virgo, Gemini, Aries, Taurus, and Scorpio . . ."

She turned to him with a curious expression.

"Mori, why . . .?"

The twitch at the edges of his mouth that was his beautiful smile only inflamed her curiosity.

"You'll figure it out."

**-x-**

"Do you have everything?"

His voice echoed in the nearly-empty dining room, ringing with the lack of company. Haruhi nodded, plucking up her books from where they sat next to her chair, a maid busily clearing her dishes. Originally she'd loathed this, insisting on doing it herself, but eventually she learned that stressed the maids more than allowing them to do their jobs, so she let sleeping dogs lie (For now).

"I'll see you, HaruHaru?" he chirped, his childish face betraying his sadness she was departing, if only for a school day, the usual cheeriness of his voice cut off with a question mark.

"See you after school," she half-echoed, half-assured. She was used to walking to school; but Hunny's house was too far away to arrive there in time for homeroom without leaving ridiculously early. She accepted his offer to have a car pick her up and drop her off, if somewhat mortified she was being ferried there in a Rolls Royce. (In reply to this, Hunny declared 'I could buy a commoner car if you'd like.' But she hurriedly refused, not wanting to be any more of a bother.)

The air was chilly as she strolled through the garden-flanked path to the curved driveway and expensive car that idled there, it's windows tinted so black you could barely see out from inside. There was a butler to open the door, and to close it when she got in. The driver gave his hello with a nod, and she with a cheery "Ohayo!"

She felt rather like she was being had, like this was a cruel practical joke.

The car moved smoothly as it pulled out of the driveway, and Haruhi patted her hair almost nervously. There were sure to be questions about her absence, and the fact she was going to be getting out of a Rolls Royce; and she wasn't quite sure how to field them, but she was sure she'd figure something out.

She had managed to lose her knee-length pleated skirt and blouse that was her schools' uniform, and having always been a little too strapped for cash to purchase a second ensemble, she was going to beg mercy from the office staff and purchase a new one. She thought it was a little odd that Mori or Hunny had failed to arrange one to be bought for her, but she chose not to dwell on it.

As it was, she was dressed simply, clothes easy to shuck off in a bathroom and fold into a bag to swap out for a uniform. Simple shorts, t-shirt (both designer, upon Hunny's request). Other than her hair, which she had pinned sensibly out of her eyes with two clips, she could still be mistaken for a boy.

She couldn't recognize the street signs they rolled past, but she hazarded a guess that the route from Hunny's house was substantially different from that that led from her own, and paid no mind to it.

She let herself enjoy the pretty view as they cruised through the rich districts, of glutinous mansions and sweeping lawns, the splendor and waste of those of us lucky enough to wake up for the first time in their life filthy rich.

Once the vistas had ceased being as charming and a bit more industrial, she busied herself with organizing the books in her bag, by subject, gathering her pencils and pens and other supplies into the bag they were made for, as the driver didn't seem very inclined to talk, and she wasn't sure what else to do with herself until—

"We're here, miss."

"Thanks!" Haruhi said, smiling relievedly, glad to have a chance to escape the car and mute driver for the familiar landscape of Ourin. "I'll see you after school! Do you know when it lets out?"

"Four."

"No . . ." Haruhi said, puzzled. "Three."

He just looked at her like she was an idiot with a noncommittal "Of course."

Mystified and slightly offended (she wasn't quite sure which, actually), she climbed out of the car, trying to think up a few good excuses to use on her friends as to her absence and her ride.

She stopped dead.

Haruhi whirled around, about to inform the driver of his mistake, but he was already peeling out of the space, driving like a man desperate to get away.

She realized that she had been had, that Hunny had arranged all of this behind her back; just as the Gothic clocktower that presided over Ouran Academy chimed the morning hour.

**-x-**

"Kaoru, I told you not to use the Egyptian cotton for the sun dress! It would be much better to use the yellow silk that we looked at yesterday."

"The silk? For a sun dress? It's for casual or semi-formal at best, it's not white-tie, Hikaru. Besides, that yellow is garish. I liked the cotton much better."

Hikaru huffed angrily with no heart in it, avoiding his brothers' gaze for reasons unknown as he stalked into 2A's classroom. They were very nearly late; but they cut it close and the teachers knew better than to challenge the students with more power than they could handle.

For some reason, he didn't want to meet Kaoru's curious gaze, unsure of whether to be offended or bemused by his twins' behavior.

_So the chasm splits wider. _

Pushing thoughts like that out of his head, Hikaru expanded his field of view, forcing himself to take in the room he'd been trapped in for the duration of the year so far. Same students in the same seats, the only thing was different was that the wispy teacher was standing at the front of the room instead of at his desk, conferring with a girl in the lemon-yellow uniform with short dark hair, cropped in a boy's cut and tugging at her skirt absently, like she was uncomfortable in the expensive, well-made apparel.

The twins were visited by identical twinges of remembrance. They hurt much less now, her rejection, but it hurt all the same as they caught a snippet of the conversation.

" . . . understand you've attended Ouran once before?"

Thinking nothing of it, or perhaps forcing themselves to, they made their way to their favored seats in the back of the room. Though they had more than enough fangirls, the seat on either side was empty, they exuded a keep-to-themselves air that warned others off when they were not in the Third Music Room.

They didn't know why they didn't quit the Host Club. By all accounts, they should. They didn't want to act out Brotherly Love. There was no Haruhi to harass. The Club was listless to them, now. But even with such things running laps in one's head, life unfortunately continues, as was showcased by the

bell trilling annoyingly, announcing that everyone had better sit their asses down or no money in the world would save you (coined by the ever-charming Hikaru, by the way).

"Welcome, students," the teacher said with a voice made heavy by too many years teaching spoiled kids (he comforted himself with the payroll and the food he enjoyed free at lunch). "We have a new student today."

Hikaru and Kaoru exchanged a glance. _Big surprise. _She'd inevitably try to cozy up to them, seeing as the only open seats were on either side of the twins. Another day, another newcomer thinking she had a chance with the twins who only loved each other, nowadays. They took out their books, not sparing a glance at her, determined not to give her any shred of hope that might lead to more would-be-wooing. So obviously they didn't notice her eyes boring into the floor, also hellbent on not looking at them even though the entire class was fixated on her face. They all remembered it. One of the most popular boys in 1A, it was hard to forget.

"Please be kind and helpful to..." The teacher struggled slightly over the name (Hikaru and Kaoru stared fixedly at their notebooks). "Haruhi Fujioka?"

Identical heads snapped up like puppets on strings.

**Ooh. Something of a cliffie?**

**. . . . Maaaybe?**

**And did I puzzle you with the astrology reference? Some of you will get it, some of you won't . . . feel free to wonder. Haruhi will figure it out eventually, and won't that be fun . . . **

**Until then,**

**From Vacancy With Oodles of Love**


	16. Gemini

A/N:** So my zest for this story is back stronger than ever. I can say with mostly-confidence that the rest of these chapters are going to be put out reeeally quickly. Except next week, when A) Breaking Dawn comes out and B) My grandparents are over for the weekend, when there might be a bit of a delay because they don't like me being on computers for some reason. 00 **

**Well, anyway.**

**Most of you guessed really well on the charms, they weren't that hard to figure out, but kudos anyway. And then a few of you admonished me (in a kind way) for my continuous naivety as far as the lingo goes on FF, and the fact I faaaaiiiil for some reason** **at writing cliffies. XD Anyway, chapter fifteen!**

Disclaimer: I get SO tired of these...NO. JESUS. Isn't fourteen of these so far enough?

Chapter Fifteen:

_Gemini_

"Please take a seat at the back of the room, Haruhi," the teacher said absently, gesturing her to the back row. Eyes still fixated on the floor, Haruhi made her way to the back of the room through the aisle, her Mary Janes click-click-clicking loudly in the new-kid-silence.

Four identical gold-yellow eyes followed her as she sat down at her seat, boring into the side of her head. Biting her cheek but not showing any external discomfort, she took her books for the particular class out of her bag and opened them, carefully locating the page number written messily upon the board. Unfortunately that only gave her a reason to keep her eyes down for a handful of seconds. When she looked back up, the majority of the class was staring at her, putting two and two together and glancing at each other, the same question on everyone's tongue, formed by their lips, asked silently with their eyes.

_Is this Haruhi Fujioka from the Host Club?_

"If everyone would please return their attention to the front of the room," the teacher said wearily, too worn out to put any bite in the words, and everyone reluctantly turned as he paced the rows, collecting sheafs of paper printed with the complex algebra they were studying. "Today we will be studying . . ."

_Thwack_. A folded piece of paper hit the side of Haruhi's desk, falling to the floor softly, like it was harmless as a note passed between friends. Like it didn't carry any weight.

Haruhi didn't even blink.

Hikaru exchanged another look with his brother, who was already writing on another scrap of paper, watching intently as his brother folded it and tossed it to Haruhis' desk. This time it landed on the neatly opened textbook, and yet again she ignored it. But her hand twitched slightly toward it, like she intended to take it, and of course Hikaru saw.

Six more notes were fired, and after the eight little notes sat on and around her desk, Haruhi finally gave in and shot Hikaru a furious look before sweeping them into her bag and slamming her eyes back to the teacher.

No more notes were sent.

The class period dragged seemingly obscenely long, and Hikaru and Kaoru's jaws ached with the questions they weren't asking. They were more than sure she would field them with grace, but it would be her voice, and her face, and _her_ standing in front of them.

"All right, students, it's time for lunch," the teacher said wearily (what _was _his name?). "Haruhi; would you see me for a moment?"

The muscles in her face tensed, and she nodded. He would speak to her about the notes. She was sure of it.

To her surprise and mostly-relief, he merely handed her an envelope.

"Your guardian set up a lunch account for you," he said, a glimmer of pity for the new girl in his eyes. "So you can order what you want at lunch."

"Thank you," she said courteously in her clear, polite voice. She accepted the envelope. "Is that all?

"Yes," he said, nodding. "Just tell the cashier your code...it's on that paper there."

Haruhi just smiled, her nervousness etched on her face, and walked out of the classroom after the rest of the students in 2A. Though many of them were hovering outside with questioning demands for her, Hikaru and Kaoru beat them to her.

There was a bit more buzzing of gossip-hungry rich kids, but then they dispersed, as no one had any real desire to tick off the Hitachiin twins.

"Haruhi," Kaoru greeted.

"Why are you back?" Hikaru demanded, more than slightly less kindly. His composure slipped a second. "Why wouldn't you talk to us?"

"Excuse me," she said quietly, addressing their shoes. "I need to get through."

"Talk to us first," they said in their disarming unison, their voices thick with identical emotion. This brought her almost alien-ly huge brown eyes to their faces.

"Fine," she said, struggling to keep her voice even.

"Why are you back."

It wasn't a question.

"Hunny," she said, gritting her teeth. "Insisted."

They exchanged glances, what had happened to Mori?

" . . . Will you sit with us at lunch?" they asked. They almost seemed like kids for a tiny second. Her heart warmed slightly.

" . . . yes, okay," she said quietly, and they smiled, happy at this small development, as they shepherded the silent Haruhi to the cafeteria.

Locating Tamaki easily at the rounds of nervous girlish giggling that issued from a particular spot in the cafeteria, they angled their bodies so her face was all but invisible to him as she ordered her meal almost inaudibly. They didn't want Tono seeing her yet.

"That will be—" the cashier informed her as her order arrived, steaming on a tray, on the counter. Eyes wide as saucers at the ridiculous amount, Haruhi stuttered out the random arrangement of numbers and letters printed on the slip of paper she'd taken from the envelope. The cashier smiled amiably and informed her of the remaining balance on her account (she nearly fainted) (the twins exchanged glances of happiness)

Carrying a tray loaded with highclass food, they led her to a nearly empty table (their hands were empty, suddenly they'd lost their appetite), when unfortunately he located them. Haruhi had set her tray down on the table and was about to sit when he spotted them. As he spoke, they closed their eyes in the same reflexive way.

"Oh, devil-twins! What girl have you managed to rope into eating with you?" he asked loudly with not a note of malice in his heart but drawing the eyes of every girl in the cafeteria (and several boys with questionable orientation). Strolling over, grinning easily, Haruhi was frozen as if stone ran through her veins instead of blood.

"Who is she?" he asked easily, hands tucked in pockets, leaning forward. Her hair shadowed her face, as did Hikaru's shoulder. "Come on, Princess . . . it's a bad idea to hang out with these twins . . ." He caught her arm, turning her slightly, and froze as solidly as she.

"H—" His breath caught on the beginning of her name. "Haruhi?"

One hand moved slowly up to her chin, pulling it upward gently.

Glaring into his beautiful indigo eyes defiantly, Haruhi met his gaze.

He kissed her full on the mouth.

All the chatter in the room stopped.

The twins, exchanging frantic glances, tried to pull Tamaki off of Haruhi, but he stood completely still. They were approximately his weight, height, and could lift about as much as he could, but they couldn't budge him.

It turned out all it took was her little hands, her slight weight, shoving him away with every ounce of power she had in her paltry muscles to get him stumbling back.

Eyes flaring, she just stared at him with eyes full of fire for one full second, then turned away, her face bone pale, back to her lunch and sat down. Her hands didn't shake as she raised her fork, but the expression on her face told the anger that was ripping through her, that she wasn't going to speak. She would be the silent one, for a change.

"Haruhi," Tamaki said quickly, sitting next to her, not finding her rejection at all stalling. "Come on . . . tell me why you're here."

"Apparently Hunny insisted," Kaoru said, sitting on Haruhi's other side.

Not replying to this, Tamaki set the full power of his indigo eyes on her, and she felt her shoulders shake involuntarily. _Tamaki_ . . .

"Haruhi, talk to us," he said, leaning in close enough she could feel his breath on her neck.

"Not now," she said, her voice carefully controlled.

"Why not?" he asked despairingly.

"Because you just _kissed_ me!" she said, a little of her anger and frustration slipping into her voice.

"She's got a point, Milord," Kaoru said, leaning his chin on his hand.

Haruhi concentrated on putting food in her mouth. She should have been over the moon at how it tasted, the texture, the careful display, but everything tasted like dust in her mouth.

"Fine," he said, the word half an exhale, half an agreement. "Will you come by the Third Music Room, Haruhi, after school? We'll cancel the Host Club."

"Yes," she said, her words stiff. "Leave me alone, please."

"Fine," Tamaki repeated, withdrawing. "I guess I'll . . . see you after school then."

"Guess so," Haruhi said, returning his eyes to her lunch, not even raising them when he walked away.

**-x-**

There was a lot of talk about Haruhi that day.

That she was Tamaki's girlfriend, that she was the Hitachiins mutual flame, that she was Haruhi Fujioka from the Host Club.

Of course, none of the Host Club members would stand for this, even Kyoya, who had figured out the truth more quickly than the twins (he was notified every time a new student registered, interested in who he should suck up to and who he could ignore), and while they fielded the questions with grace, they very firmly neither confirmed nor denied the questions they were asked.

The Hitachiin twins closed ranks around Haruhi, not letting anyone else even speak to her, though they doubted she would reply. The closest thing she did to talking to them was a tentative smile at the near-end of the day that melted their hearts.

The time rolled around to go to the Host Club, conveniently closed for clients. Even Kyoya didn't make a fuss over the fact that they weren't bringing in any money that day, standing tense as Tamaki near a table laid out for tea while the younger Hosts peppered them with curious questions.

The doors opened to empty air.

No swirl of roses, no collective call of welcome, just a bunch of nervous schoolboys buzzing around untheatrically. It would be much too melodramatic to say that a hush fell over the crowd; no more than a few boys glanced over at the entering trio and called out Hellos to the Hitachiin twins, not thinking much of the girl who walked with them, returning to their conversations without even blinking.

Tamaki was there in an instant, guiding her to the table set out for tea.

"Unfortunately," he called out loudly. "The Host Club is canceled for today . . . please call your respective drivers and arrange to go home."

Over collective grumbling and freshmen filing out the door, all five of them sat down.

Complete and utter silence.

"Er . . . Haruhi, some tea?" Tamaki asked, uncharacteristically awkward.

"Yes, thank you," she murmured, toying with the material of her dress.

"Why did you leave, Haruhi?" Hikaru asked abruptly.

Her head jerked up.

Might as well just talk, she thought mournfully. She would deal with the traitorous Hunny later.

"Uh . . . well . . ."

So they had her answering their questions.

Though far from fully, she hedged most of the answers and kept quiet more than once, they got a good idea of why she had left, though they were completely blank as to why she feared romantic affection, why she was staying with Hunny (Kyoya promised to have his police force on it), a small bit on why she had had Mori at her home, though this elicited such a furious blush they chose not to inquire further, and a promise it was nothing against them personally, even a small smile by the time Tamaki glanced at his watch and started swearing profusely at the time it showed.

"Better go before they lock up," he said, standing in his elegant way. "They don't know we're here, they thought everyone left . . . Haruhi, will you come by again tomorrow?"

"Tamaki," Kyoya said, finding this to cross a line. "That's too much. We can't just not have Host Club two days in a row."

"Fine," Tamaki said impatiently, frowning. "Why don't you come by my house?"

"No!" the twins shouted as one. Haruhi colored.

"You two can come over too!"

"Tomorrow at six," the twins said in their unison. It seemed to have gotten better, they didn't even have to glance at each other to know what to say next. Even though there was no grounds for it, Haruhi felt miserably like it was her fault they'd retreated far enough into themselves to have picked up forever speaking as one again.

"Hunny knows where I live," Tamaki said, looking at Haruhi with wide, hopeful eyes. "He'll tell the driver . . . you will come, won't you?"

"I have to go," Haruhi hedged. "I think I've left the driver waiting long enough."

**-x-**

Sitting in the back of the car, Haruhi rummaged in her bag. Though she would never admit it, seeing their faces and talking with them lifted some great weight off of her chest. She was almost not angry with Hunny anymore. She never _could_ hold a grudge . . .

She felt the slips of paper in the pouch where she had stuffed them during first period. She hesitated, brushing her fingers over the edges of one.

"Ah!" she inhaled sharply, bringing her hand back up and watching as the blood welled in the shallow paper cut. "Ow . . ."

The barrier between love and hate is paper-thin.

And we all know that paper cuts are the worst kind of pain.

**-x-**

_Haruhi, where have you been? -Hikaru_

_Don't ignore us, please. Come on, we've missed you. -Kaoru_

_Haruhi . . . what did we do to make you leave? Tell us, we're really sorry. No jokes, we swear. -Kaoru_

_Pick up the note and write back! -Hikaru_

_Haruhi . . . why did you leave us?_

A/N:** Well, she's back. She's bad. And I cannot believe that no one is ticked off at her. I mean, come on. Even though I wrote this I can't believe it...I guess she's just too lovable...to be hated? I don't knoooow. **

**Love,**

**Vacancy**


	17. Scorpio

**A/N: Gwahh! This update took so long and I'm really sorry! -prostates self at readers feet- it's just so hectic at the beginning of school and I really just lost my zest for this story when confronted by writers block, which is my excuse for the past, horrendous chapters, which had the potential to be good but I ruined. **

**Anyway, be happy that I didn't just delete this story as I was contemplating in a bout of annoyance at my writer's block . . . I am. **

**Well, thanks for sticking with me through all of my ups-and-downs and getting to chapter seventeen, I'm working on all of your fluffs right now and I'm still open to requests.**

Chapter Seventeen

_Scorpio_

Tamaki's house, Suou mansion number two, in the style of the Hitachiin manor, was . . ._ grandiose_. There was something earnest and barefacedly beautiful about Hunny's estate, reflecting the easily placated owner. But the elegant, classical home and ornamental garden in the front satisfied every stereotype of rich and self-absorbed.

Hunny had declined coming along, making up some story about a business meeting (even though Haruhi was no great shakes at telling lies she could spot them easily, especially in people like Hunny) and Haruhi hadn't pressed the matter.

Why weren't they mad at her? They should be. Dammit . . . she would feel better if they would yell at her. Taking their anger would be a penance for what she did, if only a little. Their sadness and intense joy at seeing her again made her want to slam her head into a wall. Didn't they notice what she'd _done_? She didn't _want_ to be forgiven. It felt like she was fixing a tear with loose stitches.

Still, Hikaru tried her number the night after her first day and, swearing to herself, she picked up, finding herself surprised by his lack of greeting other than idle chatter. She replied slowly, a question in every word though she never voiced it, but he ignored it completely, complaining about the homework he was working on at present and adding a thank-you for breaking the boredom.

She stuttered out a your-welcome.

She hated herself for being so happy.

**-x-**

Back to the house.

A maid welcomed her in with a scripted greeting and an explanation that Mr Suou and his associates are taking tea in the upper parlor, would you care to join them? It sounded so high-class and intimidating Haruhi nearly turned and bolted, but she managed a polite yes and followed her up the sweeping staircase. She was still trying to find where her old comfort with the rich lifestyle that she used to posses, but was at a loss.

She could tell that Tamaki was playing the piano, the delicate notes only he could manufacture drifted out of the open double-doors along with the chatter of the twins talking among themselves. Kyoya was, as usual, silent, and for a second she was reminded of the unflappable silence of Mori, and before Haruhi let herself be swept up in melodramatics she approached the double doors.

"Hello." It was more instinct than greeting, tripping of her tongue and automatically killing every bit of conversation in the room.

"You came!" Kaoru said, after the weighty beat of silence, waving her in with a wide smile. "Hello!"

"Hi," she said, smiling somewhat warily at the assembly.

"Good afternoon, Haruhi," Kyoya said politely from where he sat with a newspaper, his pride a little scarred from her direct refusal to marry him.

Tamaki, however, took a less diplomatic approach.

He was on the couch in an instant, pouring her tea, offering her sweet little cakes, asking her howareyouhowslifei'msogladyou'rehere! Haruhi's face cracked into an earnest grin as she pushed him away slightly.

"Want some tea?" The Hitachiin twins were both the sort of people to deal with any emotional upheaval in private, behind closed doors, and when you saw them there wasn't a glimmer of anything but ease on those identical perfectly handsome faces. In ways, she really preferred that over Tamaki's passionate displays.

"Yes, just some tea will be fine, thanks," Haruhi said, seating herself on the chair in front of the table, tucking her feet under her. Some guilt lingered in the self-hating parts of her, but to be honest she wasn't mourning her ostracism, self-imposed or otherwise. She'd missed them, clean and simple, in a way she would never have admitted to herself.

"So," Tamaki said, draping himself over the couch opposite in a way most girls found deliciously appealing. "We were discussing, before you came here, what for you to do in regards to the Host Club."

Haruhi glanced down at her skirt and blouse, very plain but very feminine, and suddenly couldn't imagine going back to the Host Club and having girls throw themselves at her again. "Um, is that possible? I mean . . . after the party and the few days so far? Everyone knows I'm a girl."

"Not insofar as hosting," Kyoya said, waving an airy hand. "The thing is, you still owe a substantial debt. Excluding any fees I might have to add for your abrupt leaving, you still owe twenty-thousand yen."

Haruhi's face lit up like a lantern.

"Really? That little?"

"The deposits you sent added up," Kyoya said, his face unreadable. "But you still owe a debt, and if you're not prepared to pay it, we'll require your services once more."

The cogs in her head turned. Maybe she could try to get Mori to help her out with the payment, as twenty-thousand yen would be a mere trifle to him, but she had a feeling that he wouldn't jump at the chance to get her away from the Host Club.

"So what would I be doing?" she asked without really noticing she put voice to her thoughts, twisting a bit of her hair absently.

"Maybe some cleaning," Kyoya allowed. "Preparation of certain foodstuffs."

"Maybe Tono will start drinking instant coffee again," Hikaru suggested before he really knew what he was saying.

"Start? He stopped?" Haruhi's question, though completely and pointedly unanswered, left a bit of awkwardness in the air.

"Look, Haruhi, here's the thing," Tamaki said, leaning forward, propping his head up on his hands, whose elbows rested on his knees. Haruhi noticed a million different things about him then—the bit of seriousness in his indigo eyes, the way his hair was disheveled in a way she'd only seen it when she had visited him when he was sick, and myraid other tiny imperfections her tweaked memories had left vacant. Embarassed at how much attention she was giving him, she returned attention to his next words. "You've become a permanent fixture at the Host Club. Leaving for a while or not, I would barely see you if you don't come back. If you . . . just stay at Ouran."

"We're begging you," the Twins chorused. "Please?"

Haruhi, suddenly interested in her fingernails, answered in a monotone.

"I'll see if Hunny's driver will be able to come later then."

A collective smile rippled over the faces of those present, and the mood in the room lifted.

**-x-**

"Ah!" Hikaru; sipping his mug of instant coffee, had glimpsed his expensive watch and apparently disliked what he found. "Kaoru, we're late for our models' fittings!"

"For the European show?" Kaoru yelped, on his feet all at once. "We can't skip that!"

"I know." Both twins were standing, and both looking at Haruhi. "See you at school tomorrow, ne, Haruhi?"

"Of course," she said, nodding. With a doubled smile, the twins turned and were gone with not so much as a formal good-bye.

"That was quick and surprisingly painless," Tamaki said, fiddling with the sleeve on his shirt. Haruhi just smiled. Alone now in the echoing room, there was a surprising comfort between them. They'd gone back to stage one with staggering ease.

"Where'd Kyoya go, anyway?"

"Off to meet his fiance, I think," Tamaki said, raising his eyes to meet her gaze. Hoping beyond hope he found no hurt there.

"Oh, really?" Haruhi said, relief filling her tone. "That's wonderful, his father found him someone?"

"They get along excellently," Tamaki said excitedly. "He's looking forward to the marriage."

"Thats great," she said, sincerity coloring her voice.

Tamaki's faced flushed, clearly pleased with her obvious lack of romantic aspirations with his best friend.

"Mr. Suou, sir?" A maid in a classic conservative uniform stood by the door. "Would you mind if we tidied up your friends' tea?"

"No, of course not," the blond said easily, rising and sauntering over to plop himself down next to Haruhi. The maid curtseyed and gestured in two other similarly garbed women, who trooped inside and cleaned the white table of the various rubble left by the twins and Kyoya while drinking their tea in a matter of seconds. Blinking at them, Haruhi watched them leave dazedly.

"I wish I could clean that fast," she muttered, thinking back to the hours spent in her little apartment cleaning up her father's things. A twinge sang in her heart, missing him, worrying.

"They're usually much less professional," Tamaki said, musing. "Must be because you're here."

"Oh really," the brunette murmured, more of a placeholder than a real statement.

"Uh, Haruhi..." The high school senior glanced over to where the serving women had closed the large white double doors, an easily overlooked gesture that left them in total private. Haruhi seemed not to notice.

"Yes, Senpai?" she asked, unflappable as ever.

"Er . . . remember what I said? When we were on vacation . . . the last day?"

Haruhi's expression became unreadable.

"Yes. Why?"

"I was just wondering what your opinion of that is . . . now."

She set her teacup down on the now-empty table, turning the handle slightly so it ran parallel with the surface's edge. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, searching for a way to reply to this.

"I don't know if you've figured this out yet, senpai . . ." she said slowly. "But I'm sort of . . . with Mori."

Tamaki sagged back in his seat like he had been pushed, a tired look on his face. After a second, he leaned forward again, twisting his head so he could look at Haruhi mournfully.

"I'd guessed," he sighed. "But I didn't want to assume . . . that you'd given up on _us_."

"Given up?" she asked, twisting her fingers. "Was there ever anything to have hope in?"

"I thought there was," he said, with the tone of a sulky child.

"There wasn't." Her voice was gentle, her words daggers. "At least not that I felt."

"Are you sure?" He tilted his head, trying to search her eyes, but she solidly avoided them. "Are you sure there was never anything?"

"Maybe once or twice," she allowed. "But it's nonsense, really, Tamaki."

"Nonsense," he repeated.

"Yes," she sounded warily pleased that he seemed to be getting her angle, for the first time.

"It wasn't nonsense."

_Damm_it.

"Maybe nonsense is the wrong word, but it never was anything. You've got your whole life ahead of you and I'm not part of it as anything but a friend."

"And you're sure."

"Yes."

There was something about the conviction in her tone that just drove him mad. Something about the way she was just so absolutely positive that made him want to upset the notion. That made him want to show her it wasn't nonsense. That there was something.

"Senpai," there was an edge in her voice when his hand curved around her head. "What are you—"

To the maids eavesdropping outside, their hearts breaking for their master, for the pull of gravity that brought their faces together, for the muscles that enacted the kiss, this was simple. Tamaki had kissed Haruhi, and he wasn't stopping. She wasn't fighting back. It was a clean-cut and simple notion, to the numbers and science in the world, but to Haruhi and Tamaki, everything was flying up with confusion.

Haruhi's hands curved around the blond's shoulders the same way they did when she kissed Mori, tangling in the slightly longer hair that grew there, her eyes slid shut in the impulsive first seconds of the kiss, before mind took over matter and the mere deliciousness of him pulling her closer wasn't enough anymore.

She loved Mori. She was solidly sure. When she kissed him, electricity jolted through her and fire followed where his fingers trailed. With Tamaki it was different, something just on the edge of breaking that had snapped in that second of anger and hurt. She knew she didn't love him but she couldn't deny the pure deliciousness that rushed through her as his mouth worked over hers and she couldn't stop herself from pressing her lips back.

Utterly and totally silent in those counts of euphoria, Haruhi couldn't think properly. And after a moment she stopped trying to.

Tamaki broke away, kiss-bruised lips curled up in a grin and indigo eyes shining.

"Do you see? Do you see that there was something?"

Haruhi hadn't collected herself enough to speak at that point, and Tamaki allowed a moment for her to do so.

"There was something," she allowed herself to concur. "But it won't happen, Tamaki. You and me. It won't."

"It can!"

"It _won't_," she repeated.

"Haruhi, why won't you give us a try?"

"Because I have a feeling we won't work, and I trust my feelings."

Her phone rang, three synthesized beeps, a pause, then three more. She held up a pausing finger, fishing it out of her pocket and holding it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Fujioka Haruhi?"

"Speaking," Haruhi said, tilting her head to the side slightly in confusion at the clean, professional voice on the other end of the line.

"This is Tokyo General Hospital. Your father is one Ryoji Fujioka, yes?"

"Yes." Her heartbeat accelerated at the mention of her estranged father.

"Your father was brought in today with serious wounds."

Her mouth went dry.

"A-are you sure?"

"That it's your father?"

"Yes."

"He's got long blond hair, brown eyes, and was wearing a pair of gray tennis shoes with checks on the sides."

Haruhi blinked hard.

"T-thats him. Is he going to be alright?"

"He's expected to make a full recovery with some permanent scarring, though he's in intensive care."

She couldn't reply, and the receptionist seemed to notice.

"Would you like to visit him?"

"Of course I would."

The receptionist told her the visiting hours, and Haruhi numbly thanked her, hanging up the phone.

"What was that about?" Tamaki asked, concern thrown into overdrive from the stricken expression on Haruhi's face.

"My father," Haruhi said blankly. "Is in the hospital."

"With?" Tamaki asked, dread coloring his tone.

"Severe wounds."

The words came out as a whisper.

Tamaki impulsively grabbed her to him, pulling her tiny body to his.

"There isn't anything between us," she whispered to him, allowing herself to be held anyway, despite it, perhaps.

"No," he sighed sadly. "I suppose there isn't."

And he was right.

**Sorry how weak some bits of the chapter were, I couldn't find a better way to write the maids coming in and tidying up but they were sorta nessecary in my mind to get the door shut and to eavesdrop outisde.**

**So if you'd forgive me for that that'd be FABOO.**

**Well, thanks for staying with me for another chapter, I really appreciate reviews and would love your feedback.**

**Muchos Adoros, **

**Vacancy**


	18. Aries

A/N: **Ahhh, I'm more and more consistently not putting updates up as quick as I should . . . ah, for the old days, two a week and it was LOVELY . . .**

**In any case, I'm still sort of accepting fluff requests. Expect it to take a REALLY long time as far as posting goes, I want to make them beautiful for you. Plus I'm taking a billion and one liberties with your guys' appearances, personalities, etc. If you've already applied feel free to add a few particulars and I'll put them in there. If you're asking for one just tell me your name disposition and a description if you want (it doesn't have to be your given name, it could be a characters name for all I care, I'm doing this for you the people!)**

**Anyway, muchos gracias (cut me some slack, I'm a French student) for reading to here. It will only a few more chapters but I'll make them beautiful for you, I PROMISE.**

Disclaimer: In an infinite universe where everything is possible I just might be Bisco Hatori. Who knows? I shouldn't make judgements on who I am and who I'm not before I'm COMPLETELY TOTALLY SURE.

(Yeah, okay, I'm not Bisco. Jeez)

Chapter Eighteen

_Aries_

The hospital was sterile and bare.

Haruhi shivered as she moved through the hallways, as substantial and white as a ghost. The air was frigid, like the intensive care ward was a refrigerator kept sub-zero so that the inhabitants didn't spoil. The thought of her father wasting away brought bile to her throat, so she chased it away.

She had denied Tamaki even the chance to come along, excusing herself to the bathroom and calling Hunny's driver and begging that he come pick her up. She had no more time than to say a quick good-bye to the blond she'd shamefully kissed before she was in the car and whizzing away.

It was strange, as if the extremely romantic moments they'd shared had completely obliterated any chance of a relationship the two had. She had a feeling that he knew it too. There would not, could not, be anything between them.

The words between her and the secretary seemed fake, like something on a television show. The only genuine thing Haruhi could find on the womans' expression was pity. The sort that told that talk had gone around her father. That he wasn't just another patient. He was a critical one.

She followed the secretaries' directions–down the hall, into the big room with the curtains, second to last on the right. It was obvious that her father nor anyone in this room had their own rooms for good reason–they needed to be looked over. They didn't get any privacy for a fear of relapse.

Second to last, on the right. Haruhi walked down the center of the room, glancing around nervously at the be curtained cubicles and pulled back the vinyl on the one indicated.

Her breath stuck in her throat as she stopped herself from screaming.

Yes, it was her father, but barely recognizable. His face was mottled with bruises and carefully cleaned cuts, gauze taped over sections of his chest. His fine blond hair had been cut short, raggedly, and his breathing, while steady, was slightly labored. She felt tears filling her eyes as she regarded the father who hadn't come home.

How could she have forgotten about him? She was struck by the sudden wish she'd spent every second of his time gone crying, missing him, putting up posters and trekking endlessly in search for him. What kind of loyal daughter was she, anyway?

"He's got one broken rib, a multitude of shallow cuts and a plethora of bruising. It'll take a while to heal, but the chance that it'll go badly are minimal."

She recognized his voice immediately. She didn't even have to ask who it was.

"What happened?" she whispered to Kyoya, walking toward her father. Gripping the side of his bed. Biting her lip to keep from breaking down.

The bespectacled boy who'd been standing behind her moved forward.

"We'll have to wait for him to wake up before we can know for sure."

Haruhi bowed her head over her father, breathing through an oxygen mask, one bruised eye puffy.

"You couldn't have done anything." His hands came down gently on her shoulders, rubbing gently there. She relaxed at the purely soothing gesture, not even considering any romantic implications.

"I feel like I could have," she whispered, letting her eyes fall shut. She couldn't bear to look at him anymore. Kyoya made a noise that sounded like a disagreement, but she couldn't tell.

"The Host Club will be happy to cover the medical bills," he murmured, and too far gone to not accept their charity, she just nodded. Of course that's why he had come. Because Kyoya liked things tucked in at the corners, neat, with no room for misconception. Because Kyoya had only wanted to marry her because his father had wanted him to. Because Kyoya would do anything to be the best.

"Congratulations, by the way," she whispered–they both spoke in hushed tones, not because of any rules, but because the bedside of such a wounded man begged silence and sobriety.

"On what?" he asked, a tint of interest in his dispassionate voice.

"Your fiancé," she replied.

"Tamaki told you?" The interest in his voice had gone sour.

"Yes." Even with the time that had passed, Haruhi was still Haruhi, nothing would change that. She hadn't noticed his tone.

Kyoya sighed, the glare he wanted to unleash neatly tied up in a corner of the bottle he used to store his suppressed emotions.

"Haruhi, we need to discuss what happened at the ball."

"Do not!" she said, contrary as a child. "I mean . . . Kyoya, is this really the place?"

"It's best to wrap up loose ends as quickly as possible." Of course. Rational, mind-over-matter, Kyoya. Silly of her to think otherwise.

"I need to know before I marry Marie–"

"Oh, is she Spanish?" Haruhi asked, desperately trying to latch onto something she was familiar with.

"Yes, actually," he said, and shook his head as if trying to banish her words. "Tell me. Is there any chance you would marry me?"

"No." Was that all he'd wanted? That she could tell. Easily.

"All right, then." He seemed to relax. "Haruhi . . . why?"

"Why?" She paused. "I don't think I could make you happy, Kyoya."

He scoffed but didn't reply.

"Kyoya." She seemed to struggle with his name, and the rest of the words came out like they were forcefully ripped from her throat. "You . . . like everyone else at the Host Club . . . deserves someone who will make you supremely happy. And I . . . no matter how convinced you are . . . am not that person."

His silence, she knew, was a disagreement.

"It's true," she sighed, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "I'm sorry. But it's true."

"What about Mori?" Kyoya asked coolly. "Can you make Mori happy?"

She flinched–the very question she'd been asking herself.

"Maybe," she said, and they spoke no more.

**-x-**

Hunny's house was empty.

The only word she could think up to fill it, as her arsenal of adjectives to describe the house (beautiful, glamorous, modern, clean) were stolen in the pure silence of the mansion.

Maids greeted her, butlers nodded respectfully, housekeepers were tidying the dining room as she wandered through. So buzzing, full of life, but so utterly empty.

The tiny blond was out of the house, visiting relatives in Europe, due back in two days. Haruhi was desperate for someone to speak to, someone to smooth her hair and tell her that it was all right, it all was okay, her father would be well soon and bounce back, even though his boss had phoned yesterday and said that he was sorry, he couldn't give Ryoji his post back when he returned, that the Mori was paying the bills, something that he wouldn't stand for when he got back to the now-deserted apartment.

Life would be good.

Life would be fine.

Her eyelids drooped, and she realized that it was nearly midnight and the twelve hours she'd been awake had seemed to drag across many days. Images of what she'd done today flickered across her mind.

_Embracing the twins._

_Kissing Tamaki._

_Finding her father._

_Turning Kyoya down._

She massaged her temples and moved through the hallways towards her rooms, interested in getting into her pajamas and into her bed.This had become her latest fixation. This had become her greatest ambition.

She managed to get inside the room, shrug off her jacket and start to take off her shirt, reaching for the pajamas' folded neatly on the table before she saw him.

"Mori!" she said, a thousand notes of surprise in her voice. "What're you . . . hello!"

He was so beautiful. The most understated of all the Host Club members, his brand of beauty was quiet, unassuming, that caused no effort or maintenance. He sat at one of the tables in the parlorlike room, leaned back in the chair with his legs set casually at a right angle, hands clasped and hanging between them. It was utterly casual, utterly appealing.

His mouth twitched. "Good evening, Haruhi. Are you alright?"

Her shoulders drooped. "Oh. So you heard?"

He nodded.

"It's great to see you," she said truthfully. She took a hesitant step towards him, like she was asking permission to move to him; and he opened his arms, a silent invitation.

She took it with no hesitation, sliding onto his lap and feeling his arms close around her, a protective vise from all the ills of the world, trying their damndest to hunt her down. Her head tucked into his shoulder, the warmth of his skin all around her, it was as close to perfect as her life got anymore.

One of his hands stroked her short hair like her father used to do when she was home sick, a soothing, innocent gesture.

"Haruhi, his condition isn't critical. He will be well very soon, will tell us who hurt him, and we will make sure the perpetrator is turned over to the justice systems." His words were a promise, but she took no heart from them.

"I know," she whispered brokenly against his chest. "He's so badly hurt, you have no idea . . ."

"I do," he said remotely.

"What?"

"I asked all the local hospitals to alert me if they found a man by Ranka's description, and I got a phone call just about the same time you did."

"Oh." Usually Haruhi would have been annoyed by something like this, but her emotions had been too loaded today to really have room for any more.

"Harihi."

"Yes."

"Isn't one emotionless person enough for this relationship?"

"You're not emotionless," Haruhi disagreed, tipping her face up to his.

"Sometimes I wonder," he said in a monotone, but didn't seem pleased with his veneer for once.

"I can prove you're not," she murmured.

"How is that?" he asked, really and truly clueless.

"I'll show you," she said, and pressed her lips to his.

He reacted in a predicable fashion–surprise, then warmth and feedback. The entirely confusing day seemed to fall into place because Mori loved her, Mori cared about her, Mori was kissing her and it was soft and sweet and gentle.

Haruhi couldn't fathom what she'd seen in Tamaki, or the twins. Mori was a gentle giant who would never do a thing to hurt her, wouldn't go off and get himself killed like her mother did, would never leave her to cry alone.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as she tried to find more comfortable way to kiss him, and found herself practically straddling him. Her cheeks heated but she made no move to break away, nor did he, hands resting lightly on her waist. They hadn't gone all the way since that one night during the thunderstorm, a night they never spoke of. She wondered, fleetingly, if tonight could be a repeat.

Her hands tangled in his hair, his unconsciously moved up, under the hem of Haruhi's shirt, which inspired a tingle to zing through her spine. She shivered and pressed closer to him, and he took this as invitation to hold her closer.

After a handful of endless minutes he broke away.

"You felt something." It wasn't a question.

"Haruhi."

"You felt something." A disturbed note entered her voice–was his flat pronunciation of her name a disagreement?

He remained silent a moment, his flat, expressionless eyes gazing at her blankly.

"Haruhi."

If she were another girl, Haruhi might've started to cry. He didn't feel anything for her. Why this charade? He'd never ever been one to mince words, let alone actions.

"You don't have to say it." Her voice was under control. She congratulated herself. "It's okay. I'm sorry."

The strangest thing happened.

His entire face lapsed, twisted up in bemusement, flat eyes confused, normally straight-line mouth twisted up.

"Haruhi, what are you talking about?"

"You don't feel anything. That's okay. I'm okay."

Lies, lies, lies.

"Haruhi, I was going to say . . ."

She tensed up for a blow.

"I love you."

A/N: **Yeah, the ending is a little cheesy but one requires some of it to write a love story...at least I do, I'm PATHETIC.**

**XD**

**There are going to be roughly two more chapters to this story, just so you're prepared. I'm not counting your fluffs, those are going to be tacked on as a...something. I've got some of them finished and I'm very impressed with myself, to be honest. 8D**

**Oh, and for those of you who're reading 'Tarnished Picture Frames' I'm doing a HikaKaoHaru angsty-lemony thing. If you're interested it should be up in the next week or so. Heehee. **

**Thanks.**

**Review for me!**

**-Vacancy**


	19. Virgo

A/N: **ugh. this chapter is crap. but at least it's something. i've sat down and tried to write this over, and over, but i've been going about it all wrong. well, here it is, and it's at least passable. i hate to lower my standards for you but it'll be another years' wait if i don't sit down and make myself write this.**

Disclaimer: I do not own Ouran High School Host Club. At all. Promise.

Chapter Twenty

_Virgo_

The beauty of the Host Club never ceased to amaze Haruhi.

Though she was largely impervious to it's effects, the physical featuring of the members was, undoubtedly, impressive. Tamaki's fair hair and skin always sparkling with beauty, Kyoya, forever impervious and coolly collected, the twins, mirror-images of each others golden and warm complexions. And Hunny, sweet and lovable, cherubic and kind.

But then there was Mori.

Haruhi had thought about this one day, put her mind to it and considered what she found so handsome in Mori. He was tall and lean and muscled, enough to pick her up without effort. His dark hair spiked up effortlessly, like it had started out smooth every morning but been rumpled by hands running through it over and over. Gray eyes, silent mouth, chiseled nose. Not bad-looking unto themselves, but none of them strikingly, imposingly handsome in the fashion of Tamaki or the twins. There was just something electric in him, something that sparked with every sparse word he spoke.

"So, what do you find so handsome in Mori?" Haku asked, relevantly, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"I don't know," Haruhi said idly, toying with her teacup. The Third Music Room was all but empty, with only the last battery of clients being wooed by smiling, happy Hosts. Haruhi had debt to pay still, after all, and as the Host Club insisted that she stay with them every day, she had decided to work it off the easiest way she knew how. She entertained the clients as they waited with old Host Club repartee, minus the romancing. Momoka had seen her and not shied away nor gotten angry, as many of her old requests did when they saw her in the Ouran dress. She had sat down and embraced her, called her a brave girl and told Haruhi she missed her. She and Haruhi had gotten to be great friends in the meantime.

And in the times when the couches set aside for waiting clients were empty, either on slow days or the last round of clients, she and Haku would sit and fondly chat as Haruhi wrote equations down for Maths in her round, concise print.

"I don't know," Haruhi said slowly, thinking about the last time she'd seen Mori, of what he'd told her in those moments after her hurt. She still hadn't told anyone, not Haku or Momoka or even Hunny, about when he'd held her and said _I love you_. It just seemed to close to be shared, to possibly be criticised, for anyone to own that knowledge but her and Mori. "It's just...there's something in him that appeals to me. It's not all physical attributes, either. Though they certainly don't hurt." She reached up and brushed her hair out of her large brown eyes, considering. "He's so solid and real, true when everyone else isn't, you know?"

"I do," Haku said, smiling, and set her tea down to call out a good-bye to Hunny's departing client. Since Haruhi had gotten back on good terms with the Host Club, he'd started coming back to make money for a contented Kyoya, mostly just to break the boredom of day-to-day life in the Haninozuka manor. "But, you know, looks are good for some things."

There was a slick tone in her voice that Haruhi did not like. She glanced over at her warily.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Sex," Haku said shamelessly, Haruhi's lips slid into a line of discomfort. "Have you?"

"Have I what?" Haruhi hedged after a moment of silence, trying to avoid the inevitable. Haku leaned closer, her breath on Haruhi's ear.

"Slept with him. Or anyone."

"Well--I--yes. I've slept with Mori."

Haku's eyes widened, she obviously had_ not_ been expecting his answer, because she replied at a high decibel.

"You _slut_!" Haku half-yelled in disbeleif and astonishment, she had zero malice in her voice but the word still stung. "I can't _believe_ you would sleep with Mori!"

The Third Music Room went quiet. Hunny, who had been walking to get a bottle of water from the small kitchen off the music room, froze, his gigantic eyes slowly zeroing in on Haruhi. Even with all of the blank surprise and incredulity in his eyes, he was quiet. It was Tamaki who broke the eerie quiet.

"YOU SLEPT WITH MORI!?!?!?"

He was over to her in an instant, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her--Haruhi spared a glance down at the now-mortified Haku, who looked apologetic.

Tamaki was practically in tears. The twins were there in an instant, gearing up to cover the hurt in their eyes with mockery.

"Why? Why would you throw your virginity away before marriage? And Mori! How dare he deflower our little girl!"

The twins were sing-songing some crude thing, Hunny was watching her with abandonment in his eyes, and Tamaki was probably going to stain the yellow dress forever with the river of tears he was now producing, and you wouldn't understand how Haruhi could begin to explain this, but it was perfect.

It was. Perfect. Back to normal. They were at the point where they were friends again, where Tamaki would weep over everything, no matter how tiny, that Haruhi did that didn't fit his image of her. The twins were dancing around, their song just getting more suggestive every circuit they made of Tamaki and Haruhi. With apologies Kyoya was shepherding the girls outside of the Music Room. She was embarassed more than she could ever imagine.

But it was perfect.

**-x-**

The car ride home was not easy. Hunny had avoided her as they packed up their things and left the Third Music Room for some unfortunate maid, but now they sat side-by-side in a large car that had never been smaller. The driver had picked up on the tension, even, rolling up the divider between the back and front seats to give them opaque privacy.

"Haru-chan," he said softly, looking up at her. "We need to talk."

_No_, she wanted to say. _We don't_. Hunny might have been disgusted and disturbed at the thought of his cousin and one of his best friends making love, but there was no reason they had to discuss it, cut it deeper into her ego.

"Okay," she said instead. "Let's talk. What do you want to talk about."

"It's not about the ... thing today," Hunny said quickly, Haruhi was surprised but far from not-releived. "Well, not all the way." He took a deep breath, scooted over to Haruhi and put a hand on her knee, sweetness and fright written over his features.

"Takashi is my best friend," he said quietly, looking up at her, forcing her to meet his own gaze. "He is my cousin and I've known him since the day I was born. He's been there as long as I can remember." He swallowed, a fat tear ran down his face. "I'm terrified to let him go."

"Oh, Hunny," Haruhi said, wanting to be the bigger person in this situation, wanting to hug him and say it was all right, everything all right. But he brushed her off, moving on.

"You're a good girl, Haru-chan. No one deserves him more than you."

"Thank you."

"I'm not finished. But what you said, forever ago, I can't un-remember it. About not being able to love anyone from the Host Club. About not being good for them, that you would only bring them unhappiness. I...want you to be with Takashi, I want you to be happy with him. But I don't want it so much to not notice if you don't love him."

Haruhi swallowed, remembering those thoughts when she had first started kissing him, when she had let him fold her into his arms in a more-than-friendly way. Just this one selfish thing. Just this one thing for me, with no thought to anyone else. She couldn't be who she'd been a year ago, in her opinion a better person. One who didn't have to break other people to stay whole.

"Just tell me Haru. Tell me you love him."

"I don't _want_ to," she said, her breath catching on a sob she hadn't noticed until then. Hunny's expression morphed, confusion and anger and pain. "I don't want to love him."

His face settled on bewildered.

"What?"

"I_ do_ love him, Hunny, I do. I can't not love him. But I shouldn't. I don't make him happy, I'm not what he deserves. But I love him." She choked without tears, shoulders sloping, hand on her mouth.

"I've never seen him happier," Hunny said softly, his short arms settling around her pulling her into his tiny frame. She took a breath, rested her head on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Haru. You're just what he's always wanted."

"Really?" she asked, and hated herself for loving to hear it.

"Totally. I was worried that Tama would get you before he did and he would never get over it."

"I love him. He loves me."

Haruhi smiled through her shame at this emotional exposure, hoping the charm of speaking words out loud would make them true.

**Again, sorry for the wait for this chapter and for the fantastic crap it turned out as. A thousand apologies. **

**-Vacancy**


End file.
